NRY  SIENK1EW1CZ 


p.  T.eNNYsoH .  .NEELY 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE 


BY 

HENRYK    SIENKIEWICZ, 

Author  of  "Quo  Vadis,"  "Children  of  the  Soil,"  "Dust  and  Aahes, 
"The  New  Soldier,"  "Where  Worlds  Meet,"  etc. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

J.  CHRISTIAN  BAY. 


F.  TENNYSON  NEELY, 

PUBLISHER, 
114 

FIFTH  AVENUE, 
CHICAGO.  NEW  YORK.  LONDON. 


Copyright,    1S99, 

by 
F.    TKNNYSON   NKELY, 

in 
United    States 

ana 
Great    Britain. 

All   Riglts  R«»«rY«d. 


INTRODUCTION. 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

I  once  read  a  short  story,  in  which  a  Slav- 
author  had  all  the  lilies  and  bells  in  a  forest 
bending  toward  each  other,  whispering  and 
resounding  softly  the  words:  "Glory!  Glory! 
Glory!"  until  the  whole  forest  and  then  the 
whole  world  repeated  the  song  of  flowers. 

Such  is  to-day  the  fate  of  the  author  of  the 
powerful  historical  trilogy:  "With  Fire  and 
Sword,"  "The  Deluge"  and  "Pan  Michael," 
preceded  by  short  stories,  "Lillian  Morris," 
"Yanko  the  Musician,"  "After  Bread," 
"Hania,"  "Let  Us  Follow  Him,"  followed  by 
two  problem  novels,  "Without  Dogma,"  and 
"Children  of  the  Soil,"  and  crowned  by  a 


2132899 


6  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.    • 

masterpiece  of  an  incomparable  artistic  beauty, 
"Quo  Vadis."  Eleven  good  books  adopted 
from  the  Polish  language  and  set  into  circula- 
tion are  of  great  importance  for  the  English- 
reading  people — just  now  I  am  emphasizing 
only  this — because  these  books  are  written  in 
the  most  beautiful  language  ever  written  by 
any  Polish  author!  Eleven  books  of  masterly, 
personal,  and  simple  prose!  Eleven  good 
books  given  to  the  circulation  and  received  not 
only  with  admiration  but  with  gratitude — 
books  where  there  are  more  or  less  good  or 
sincere  pages,  but  where  there  is  not  one  on 
which  original  humor,  nobleness,  charm,  some 
comforting  thoughts,  some  elevated  senti- 
ments do  not  shine.  Some  other  author  would 
perhaps  have  stopped  after  producing  "Quo 
Vadis,"  without  any  doubt  the  best  of  Sienkie- 
wicz's  books.  But  Sienkiewicz  looks  into  the 
future  and  cares  more  about  works  which  he  is 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  7 

going  to  write,  than  about  those  which  we 
have  already  in  our  libraries,  and  he  renews 
his  talents,  searching,  perhaps  unknowingly, 
for  new  themes  and  tendencies. 

When  one  knows  how  to  read  a  book,  then 
from  its  pages  the  author's  face  looks  out  on 
him,  a  face  not  material,  but  just  the  same 
full  of  life.  Sienkiewicz's  face,  looking  on  us 
from  his  books,  is  not  always  the  same;  it 
changes,  and  in  his  last  book  ("Quo  Vadis") 
it  is  quite  different,  almost  new. 

There  are  some  people  who  throw  down  a 
book  after  having  read  it,  as  one  leaves  a  bot- 
tle after  having  drank  the  wine  from  it. 
There  are  others  who  read  books  with  a  pencil 
in  their  hands,  and  they  mark  the  most  strik- 
ing passages.  Afterward,  in  th'e  hours  of  rest, 
in  the  moments  when  one  needs  a  stimulant 
from  within  and  one  searches  for  harmony, 
sympathy  of  a  thing  apparently  so  dead  and 


8  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

strange  as  a  book  is,  they  come  back  to  the 
marked  passages,  to  their  own  thoughts,  more 
comprehensible  since  an  author  expressed 
them;  to  their  own  sentiments,  stronger  and 
more  natural  since  they  found  them  in  some- 
body else's  words.  Because  ofttimes  it  seems 
to  us — the  common  readers — that  there  is  no 
difference  between  our  interior  world  and  the 
horizon  of  great  authors,  and  we  flatter  our- 
selves by  believing  that  we  are  only  less  dar- 
ing, less  brave  than  are  thinkers  and  poets, 
that  some  interior  lack  of  courage  stopped  us 
from  having  formulated  our  impressions.  And 
in  this  sentiment  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth. 
But  while  this  expression  of  our  thoughts 
seems  to  us  to  be  a  daring";  to  the  others  it  is 
a  need;  they  even  do  not  suspect  how  much 
they  are  daring  and  new.  They  must,  accord- 
ing to  the  words  of  a  poet,  "Spin  out  the  love, 
as  the  silkworm  spins  its  web."  That  is  their 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

capital  distinction  from  common  mortals;  \ve 
recognize  them  by  it  at  once;  and  that  is  the 
reason  we  put  them  above  the  common  level. 
On  the  pages  of  their  books  we  find  not  the 
traces  of  the  accidental,  deeper  penetrating 
into  the  life  or  more  refined  feelings,  but  the 
whole  harvest  of  thoughts,  impressions,  dispo- 
sitions, written  skilfully,  because  studied  deep- 
ly. We  also  leave  something  on  these  pages. 
Some  people  dry  flowers  on  them,  the  others 
preserve  reminiscences.  In  every  one  of  Sien- 
kiewicz's  volumes  people  will  deposit  a  great 
many  personal  impressions,  part  of  their  souls; 
in  every  one  they  will  find  them  again  after 
many  years. 

There  are  three  periods  in  Sienkiewicz's  lit- 
erary life.  In  the  first  he  wrote  short  stories, 
which  are  masterpieces  of  grace  and  ingenuity 
— at  least  some  of  them.  In  those  stories  the 
reader  will  meet  frequent  thoughts  about  gen- 


10  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

eral  problems,  deep  observations  of  life — and 
notwithstanding  his  idealism,  very  truthful 
about  spiritual  moods,  expressed  with  an  easy 
and  sincere  hand.  Speaking  about  Sienkie- 
wicz's  works,  no  matter  how  small  it  may  be, 
one  has  always  the  feeling  that  one  speaks 
about  a  known,  living  in  general  memory 
work.  Almost  every  one  of  his  stories  is  like 
a  stone  thrown  in  the  midst  of  a  flock  of  spar- 
rows gathering  in  the  winter  time  around 
barns:  one  throw  arouses  at  once  a  flock  of 

winged  reminiscences. 

The  other  characteristics  of  his  stories  are 
uncommonness  of  his  conceptions,  masterly 
compositions,  ofttimes  artificial.  It  happens 
also  that  a  story  has  no  plot  ("From  the  Diary 
of  a  Tutor  in  Pozman,"  "Bartek  the  Victor"), 
no  action,  almost  no  matter  ("Yamyol"),  but 
the  reader  is  rewarded  by  simplicity,  rural 
theme,  humoristic  pictures  ("Comedy  of  Err- 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  11 

ors:  A  Sketch  of  American  Life"),  pity  for 
the  little  and  poor  ("Yanko  the  Musician"), 
and  those  qualities  make  the  reader  remember 
his  stories  well.  It  is  almost  impossible  to 
forget — under  the  general  impressions — about 
his  striking  and  standing-out  figures  ("The 
Lighthouse  Keeper  of  AspimvaH"),  about  the 
individual  impression  they  leave  on  our  minds. 
Apparently  they  are  commonplace,  every-day 
people,  but  the  author's  talent  puts  on  them  an 
original  individuality,  a  particular  stamp, 
which  makes  one  remember  them  forever  and 
afterward  apply  them  to  the  individuals  which 
one  meets  in  life.  No  matter  how  insignifi- 
cant socially  is  the  figure  chosen  by  Sienkie- 
wicz  for  his  story,  the  great  talent  of  the  author 
magnifies  its  striking  features,  not  seen  by 
common  people,  and  makes  of  it  a  master- 
piece of  literary  art. 

Although  we  have  a  popular  saying:    '  Com- 


12  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

paraison  n'est  pas  raison,  one  cannot  refrain 
from  stating  here  that  this  love  for  the  poor, 
the  little,  and  the  oppressed,  brought  out  so 
powerfully  in  Sienkiewicz's  short  stories,  con- 
stitutes a  link  between  him  and  Francois  Cop- 
pee,  who  is  so  great  a  friend  of  the  friendless 
and  the  oppressed,  those  who,  without  noise, 
bear  the  heaviest  chains,  the  pariahs  of  our 
happy  and  smiling  society.  The  only  differ- 
ence between  the  short  stories  of  these  two 
writers  is  this,  that  notwithstanding  all  the 
mastercraft  of  Coppee  work,  one  forgets  the 
impressions  produced  by  the  reading  of  his 
work — while  it  is  almost  impossible  to  forget 
'The  Lighthouse  Keeper"  looking  on  any 
lighthouse,  or  "Yanko  the  Musician"  listen- 
ing to  a  poor  wandering  boy  playing  on  the 
street,  or  "Bartek  the  Victor"  seeing  soldiers 
of  which  military  discipline  have  made  ma- 
chines rather  than  thinking  beings,  or  "The 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  13 

Diary  of  a  Tutor"  contemplating  the  pale  face 
of  children  overloaded  with  studies.  Another 
difference  between  those  two  writers — the 
comparison  is  always  between  their  short  stor- 
ies— is  this,  that  while  Sienkiewicz's  figures 
and  characters  are  universal,  international — 
if  one  can  use  this  adjective  here — and  can  be 

*  applied  to  the  students  of  any  country,  to  the 
soldiers  of  any  nation,  to  any  wandering  mu- 
sician and  to  the  light-keeper  on  any  sea,  the 
figures  of  Francois  Coppee  are  mostly  Paris- 
ian and  could  be  hardly  displaced  from  their 
Parisian  surroundings  and  conditions. 

Sometimes  the  whole  short  story  is  written 
for  the  sake  of  that  which  the  French  call 

pointe.  When  one  has  finished  the  reading  of 
"Zeus's  Sentence,"  for  a  moment  the  charm- 
ing description  of  the  evening  and  Athenian 
night  is  lost.  And  what  a  beautiful  descrip- 
tion it  is !  If  the  art  of  reading  were  cultivated 


14  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

in  America  as  it  is  in  France  and  Germany,  I 
would  not  be  surprised  if  some  American  Le- 
gouve  or  Strakosch  were  to  add  to  his  reper- 
toire such  productions  of  prose  as  this  hu- 
morously poetic  "Zeus's  Sentence,"  or  that 
mystic  madrigal,  "Be  Blessed." 

'•'But  the  dusk  did  not  last  long,"  writes 
Sienkiewicz.  "Soon  from  the  Archipelago 
appeared  the  pale  Selene  and  began  to  sail  like 
a  silvery  boat  in  the  heavenly  space.  And  the 
walls  of  the  Acropolis  lighted  again,  but  they 
beamed  now  with  a  pale  green  light,  and 
looked  more  than  ever  like  the  vision  of  a 
dream." 

But  all  these,  and  other  equally  charming 
pictures,  disappear  for  a  moment  from  the 
memory  of  the  reader.  There  remains  only 
the  final  joke — only  Zeus's  sentence.  "A  vir- 
tuous woman — especially  when  she  loves  an- 
other man — can  resist  Apollo.  But  surely 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  15 

and  always  a  stupid  woman  will  resist  him." 
Only  when  one  thinks  of  the  story  does  one 
see  that  the  ending — that  ''immoral  conclu- 
sion" I  should  say  if  I  were  not  able  to  under- 
stand the  joke — does  not  constitute  the  es- 
sence of  the  story.  Only  then  we  find  a  de- 
light in  the  description  of  the  city  for  which 
Othe  wagons  cater  the  divine  barley,  and  the 
water  is  carried  by  the  girls,  "with  amphorae 
poised  on  their  shoulders  and  lifted  hands,  go- 
ing home,  light  and  graceful,  like  immortal 
nymphs." 

And  then  follow  such  paragraphs  as  the  fol- 
lowing, which  determine  the  real  value  of  the 
work : 

"The  voice  of  the  God  of  Poetry  sounded  so 
beautiful  that  it  performed  a  miracle.  Be- 
hold! In  the  Ambrosian  night  the  gold  spear 
standing  on  the  Acropolis  of  Athens  trembled, 
and  the  marble  head  of  the  gigantic  statue 


16  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

turned  toward  the  Acropolis  in  order  to  hear 
better.  .  .  .  Heaven  and  earth  listened  to  it; 
the  sea  stopped  roaring  and  lay  peacefully 
near  the  shores;  even  pale  Selene  stopped  her 
night  wandering  in  the  sky  and  stood  motion- 
less over  Athens." 

"And  when  Apollo  had  finished,  a  light 
wind  arose  and  carried  the  song  through  the 
whole  of  Greece,  and  wherever  a  child  in  the 
cradle  heard  only  a  tone  of  it,  that  child  grew 
into  a  poet." 

What  poet?  Famed  by  what  song?  Will 
he  not  perhaps  be  a  lyric  poet? 

The  same  happens  with  "Lux  in  Tenebris." 
One  reads  again  and  again  the  description  of 
the  fall  of  the  mist  and  the  splashing  of  the 
rain  dropping  in  the  gutter,  "the  cawing  of 
the  crows,  migrating  to  the  city  for  their 
winter  quarters,  and,  with  flapping  of  wings, 
roosting  in  the  trees."  One  feels  that  the 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  17 

whole  misery  of  the  first  ten  pages  was  neces- 
sary in  order  to  form  a  background  for  the 
two  pages  of  heavenly  light,  to  bring  out  the 
brightness  of  that  light.  "Those  who  have 
lost  their  best  beloved,"  writes  Sienkiewicz, 
"must  hang  their  lives  on  something;  other- 

_wise  they  could  not  exist."     In  such  sentences 

. 

— and  it  is  not  the  prettiest,  but  the  shortest 
that  I  have  quoted — resounds,  however,  the 
quieting  wisdom,  the  noble  love  of  that  art 
which  poor  Kamionka  "respected  deeply  and 
was  always  sincere  toward."  During  the  long 
years  of  his  profession  he  never  cheated  nor 
wronged  it,  neither  for  the  sake  of  fame  nor 
money,  nor  for  praise  nor  for  criticism.  He 
always  wrote  as  he  felt.  Were  I  not  like  Ruth 
of  the  Bible,  doomed  to  pick  the  ears  of  corn 
instead  of  being  myself  a  sower — if  God  had 
not  made  me  critic  and  worshipper  but  artist 
and  creator — I  could  not  wish  for  another  ne- 


18  IIENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

crology  than  those  words  of  Sienkiewicz  re- 
garding the  statuary  Kamionka. 

Quite  another  thing  is  the  story  "At  the 
Source."  None  of  the  stories  except  "Let  Us 
Follow  Him"  possess  for  me  so  many  tran- 
scendent beauties,  although  we  are  right  to  be 
angry  with  the  author  for  having  wished,  dur- 
ing the  reading  of  several  pages,  to  make  us 
believe  an  impossible  thing — that  he  was  de- 
ceiving us.  It  is  true  that  he  has  done  it  in  a 
masterly  manner — it  is  true  that  he  could  not 
have  done  otherwise,  but  at  the  same  time 
there  is  a  fault  in  the  conception,  and  although 
Sienkiewicz  has  covered  the  precipice  with 
flowers,  nevertheless  the  precipice  exists. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  true  that  one  read- 
ing the  novel  will  forget  the  trick  of  the  author 
and  will  see  in  it  only  the  picture  of  an  im- 
mense happiness  and  a  hymn  in  the  worship  of 
love.  Perhaps  the  poor  student  is  right  when 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  19 

he  says:  "Among  all  the  sources  of  happi- 
ness, that  from  which  I  drank  during  the  fever 
is  the  clearest  and  best."  "A  life  which  love 
has  not  visited,  even  in  a  dream,  is  still  worse." 

Love  and  faith  in  woman  and  art  are  two 
constantly  recurring  themes  in  "Lux  in  Tene- 
bris,"  "At  the  Source,"  "Be  Blessed,"  and 
"Organist  of  Ponikila." 

When  Sienkiewicz  wrote  "Let  Us  Follow 
Him,"  some  critics  cried  angrily  that  he  les- 
sens his  talent  and  moral  worth  of  the  litera- 
ture; they  regretted  that  he  turned  people 
into  the  false  road  of  mysticism,  long  since 
left.  Having  found  Christ  on  his  pages,  the 
least  religious  people  have  recollected  how  gi- 
gantic he  is  in  the  writings  of  Heine,  walking 
over  land  and  sea,  carrying  a  red,  burning  sun 
instead  of  a  heart.  They  all  understood  that 
to  introduce  Christ  not  only  worthily  or  beau- 
tifully, but  simply  and  in  such  a  manner  that 


20  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

\ve  would  not  be  obliged  to  turn  away  from 
the  picture,  would  be  a  great  art — almost  a 
triumph. 

In  later  times  we  have  made  many  such  at- 
tempts. "The  Mysticism"  became  to-day  an 
article  of  commerce.  The  religious  tender- 
ness and  simplicity  was  spread  among  Pari- 
sian newspaper  men,  playwrights  and  novel- 
ists. Such  as  Armand  Sylvestre,  such  as 
Theodore  de  Wyzewa,  are  playing  at  writing 
up  Christian  dogmas  and  legends.  And  a 
strange  thing!  While  the  painters  try  to 
bring  the  Christ  nearer  to  the  crowd,  while 
Fritz  von  Uhde  or  Lhermitte  put  the  Christ  in 
a  country  school,  in  a  workingman's  house, 
the  weakling  writers,  imitating  poets,  dress 
Him  in  old,  faded,  traditional  clothes  and  sur- 
round Him  with  a  theatrical  light  which  they 
dare  to  call  "mysticism."  They  are  crowding 
the  porticos  of  the  temple,  but  they  are  merely 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  21 

merchants.     Anatole  France  alone  cannot  be 
placed  in  the  same  crowd. 

In  "Let  Us  Follow  Him"  the  situation  and 
characters  are  known,  and  are  already  to  be 
found  in  literature.  But  never  were  they 
painted  so  simply,  so  modestly,  without  ro- 
^  mantic  complaints  and  exclamations.  In  the 
first  chapters  of  that  story  there  appears  an 
epic  writer  with  whom  we  have  for  a  long 
time  been  familiar.  We  are  accustomed  to 
that  uncommon  simplicity.  But  in  order  to 
appreciate  the  narrative  regarding  Antea,  one 
must  listen  attentively  to  this  slow  prose  and 
then  one  will  notice  the  rhythmic  sentences 
following  one  after  the  other.  Then  one  feels 
that  the  author  is  building  a  great  foundation 
for  the  action.  Sometimes  there  occurs  a 
brief,  sharp  sentence  ending  in  a  strong,  short 
word,  and  the  result  is  that  Sienkiewicz  has 
given  us  a  masterpiece  which  justifies  the  en- 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

thusiasm  of  a  critic,  who  called  him  a  Prince 
of  Polish  Prose. 

In  the  second  period  of  his  literary  activity, 
Sienkiewicz  has  produced  his  remarkable  his- 
torical trilogy,  "The  Deluge,"  "With  Fire  and 
Sword,"  and  "Pan  Michael,"  in  which  his  tal- 
ent shines  forth  powerfully,  and  which  possess 
absolutely  distinctive  characters  from  his  short 
stories.  The  admirers  of  romanticism  cannot 
find  any  better  books  in  historical  fiction. 
Some  critic  has  said  righteously  about  Sienkie- 
wicz, speaking  of  his  "Deluge,"  that  he  is 
"the  first  of  Polish  novelists,  past  or  present, 
and  second  to  none  now  living  in  England, 
France,  or  Germany." 

Sienkiewicz  being  himself  a  nobleman, 
therefore  naturally  in  his  historical  novels  he 
describes  the  glorious  deeds  of  the  Polish  no- 
bility, who,  being  located  on  the  frontier  of 
such  barbarous  nations  as  Turks,  Kozaks, 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  23 

Tartars,  and  Wolochs  (to-day  Roumania),  had 
defended  Europe  for  centuries  from  the  inva- 
sions of  barbarism  and  gave  the  time  to  Ger- 
many, France,  and  England  to  outstrip  Po- 
land in  the  development  of  material  welfare 
and  general  civilization  among  the  masses — 
the  nobility  being  always  very  refined — 
though  in  the  fifteenth  century  the  literature 
of  Poland  and  her  sister  Bohemia  (Chechy) 
was  richer  than  any  other  European  country, 
except  Italy.  One  should  at  least  always  re- 
member that  Xicolaus  Kopernicus  (Koper- 
nik)  was  a  Pole  and  John  Huss  was  a  Chech. 
Historical  novels  began  in  England,  or 
rather  in  Scotland,  by  the  genius  of  Walter 
Scott,  followed  in  France  by  Alexandre  Du- 
mas pere.  These  two  great  writers  had  nu- 
merous followers  and  imitators  in  all  countries, 
and  every  nation  can  point  out  some  more  or 
less  successful  writer  in  that  field,  but  who 


24  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

never  attained  the  great  success  of  Sienkie- 
wicz,  whose  works  are  translated  into  many 
languages,  even  into  Russian,  where  the  an- 
tipathy for  the  Polish  superior  degree  of  civil- 
ization is  still  very  eager. 

The  superiority  of  Sienkiewicz's  talent  is 
then  affirmed  by  this  fact  of  translation,  and  I 
would  dare  say  that  he  is  superior  to  the  father 
of  this  kind  of  novels,  on  account  of  his  his- 
torical coloring,  so  much  emphasized  in  Wal- 
ter Scott.  This  important  quality  in  the  his- 
torical novel  is  truer  and  more  lively  in  the 
Polish  writer,  and  then  he  possesses  that  psy- 
chological depth  about  which  Walter  Scott 
never  dreamed.  Walter  Scott  never  has  cre- 
ated such  an  original  and  typical  figure  as  Za- 
globa  is,  who  is  a  worthy  rival  to  Shake- 
speare's Falstaff.  As  for  the  description  of 
duelings,  fights,  battles,  Sienkiewicz's  fantas- 
tically heroic  pen  is  without  rival. 


HENRY K  SIEXKIEWICZ.  25 

Alexandre  Dumas,  notwithstanding  the  bit- 
ing criticism  of  Brunetiere,  will  always  remain 
a  great  favorite  with  the  reading  masses,  who 
are  searching  in  his  books  for  pleasure,  amuse- 
ment, and  distraction.  Sienkiewicz's  histori- 
cal novels  possess  all  the  interesting  qualities 
of  Dumas,  and  besides  that  they  are  full  of 
wholesome  food  for  thinking  minds.  His  col- 
ors are  more  shining,  his  brush  is  broader,  his 
composition  more  artful,  chiselled,  finished, 
better  built,  and  executed  with  more  vigor. 
While  Dumas  amuses,  pleases,  distracts,  Sien- 
kiewicz  astonishes,  surprises,  be\vitches.  All 
uneasy  preoccupations,  the  dolorous  echoes 
of  eternal  problems,  which  philosophical  doubt 
imposes  with  the  everlasting  anguish  of  the 
human  mind,  the  mystery  of  the  origin,  the 
enigma  of  destiny,  the  inexplicable  necessity 
of  suffering,  the  short,  tragical,  and  sublime 
vision  of  the  future  of  the  soul,  and  the  future 


20  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

not  less  difficult  to  be  guessed  of  by  the  hu- 
man race  in  this  material  world,  the  torments 
of  human  conscience  and  responsibility  for  the 
deeds,  is  said  by  Sienkiewicz  without  any 
pedanticism,  without  any  dryness. 

If  we  say  that  the  great  Hungarian  author 
Maurice  Jokai,  who  also  writes  historical  nov- 
els, pales  when  compared  with  that  fascinating 
Pole  who  leaves  far  behind  him  the  late  lions 
in  the  field  of  romanticism,  Stanley  J.  Wey- 
man  and  Anthony  Hope,  we  are  through  with 
that  part  of  Sienkiewicz's  literary  achieve- 
ments. 

In  the  third  period  Sienkiewicz  is  repre- 
sented by  two  problem  novels,  "Without  Dog- 
ma" and  "Children  of  the  Soil." 

The  charm  of  Sienkiewicz's  psychological 
novels  is  the  synthesis  so  seldom  realized  and 
as  I  have  already  said,  the  plastic  beauty  and 
abstract  thoughts.  He  possesses  also  an  ad- 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  27 

mirable  assurance  of  psychological  analysis,  a 
mastery  in  the  painting  of  customs  and  char- 
acters, and  the  rarest  and  most  precious  fac- 
ulty of  animating  his  heroes  with  intense,  per- 
sonal life,  which,  though  it  is  only  an  illusion- 
ary  life  appears  less  deceitful  than  the  real 
life. 

In  that  field  of  novels  Sienkiewicz  differs 
greatly  from  Balzac,  for  instance,  who  forced 
himself  to  paint  the  man  in  his  perversity  or  in 
his  stupidity.  According  to  his  views  life  is 
the  racing  after  riches.  The  whole  of  Balzac's 
philosophy  can  be  resumed  in  the  deification 
of  the  force.  All  his  heroes  are  "strong  men" 
who  disdain  humanity  and  take  advantage  of 
it.  Sienkiewicz's  psychological  novels  are  not 
lacking  in  the  ideal  in  his  conception  of  life; 
they  are  active  powers,  forming  human  souls. 
The  reader  finds  there,  in  a  well-balanced  pro- 
portion, good  and  bad  ideas  of  life,  and  he  rep- 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

resents  this  life  as  a  good  thing,  worthy  of  liv- 
ing. 

He  differs  also  from  Paul  Bourget,  who  as 
a  German  savant  counts  how  many  microbes 
are  in  a  drop  of  spoiled  blood,  who  is  pleased 
with  any  ferment,  who  does  not  care  for 
healthy  souls,  as  a  doctor  does  not  care  for 
healthy  people — and  who  is  fond  of  corrup- 
tion. Sienkiewicz's  analysis  of  life  is  not  ex- 
clusively pathological,  and  we  find  in  his  nov- 
els healthy  as  well  as  sick  people  as  in  the  real 
life.  He  takes  colors  from  twilight  and 
aurora  to  paint  with,  and  by  doing  so  he 
strengthens  our  energy,  he  stimulates  our  abil- 
ity for  thinking  about  those  eternal  problems, 
difficult  to  be  decided,  but  which  existed  and 
will  exist  as  long  as  humanity  will  exist. 

He  prefers  green  fields,  the  perfume  of  flow- 
ers, health,  virtue,  to  Zola's  liking  for  crime, 
sickness,  cadaverous  putridness,  and  manure. 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  29 

Tie  prefers   /'  ame  humaine   to   let  betf  humainr. 

He  is  never  vulgar  even  when  his  heroes  do 
not  wear  any  gloves,  and  he  has  these  common 
points  with  Shakespeare  and  Moliere,  that  he 
does  not  paint  only  certain  types  of  humanity, 
taken  from  one  certain  part  of  the  country,  as 
it  is  with  the  majority  of  French  writers  who 
do  not  go  out  of  their  dear  Paris;  in  Sienkie- 
wicz's  novels  one  can  find  every  kind 
of  people,  beginning  with  humble  peas- 
ants and  modest  noblemen  created  by 
God,  and  ending  with  proud  lords  made  by 
the  kings. 

In  the  novel  "Without  Dogma,"  there  are 
many  keen  and  sharp  observations,  said  mas- 
terly and  briefly;  there  are  many  states  of  the 
soul,  if  not  always  very  deep,  at  least  written 
with  art.  And  his  merit  in  that  respect  is 
greater  than  of  any  other  writers,  if  we  take  in 
consideration  that  in  Poland  heroic  lyricism 


•W  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

and  poetical  picturesqueness  prevail  in  the  lit- 
erature. 

The  one  who  wishes  to  find  in  the  modern 
literature  some  aphorism  to  classify  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  people,  in  order  to  be  able 
afterward  to  apply  them  to  their  fellow-men, 
must  read  "Children  of  the  Soil." 

But  the  one  who  is  less  selfish  and  wicked, 
and  wishes  to  collect  for  his  own  use  such  a 
library  as  to  be  able  at  any  moment  to  take  a 
book  from  a  shelf  and  find  in  it  something 
which  would  make  him  thoughtful  or  would 
make  him  forget  the  ordinary  life, — he  must 
get  "Quo  Vadis,"  because  there  he  will  find 
pages  which  will  recomfort  him  by  their  beau- 
ty and  dignity;  it  will  enable  him  to  go  out 
from  his  surroundings  and  enter  into  himself, 
'•  *•>  in  that  better  man  whom  we  sometimes 
feel  in  our  interior.  And  while  reading  this 
book  he  ought  to  leave  on  its  pages  the  traces 


1ILXRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  3l 

of  his  readings,  some  marks  made  with  a  lead 
pencil  or  with  his  whole  memory. 

It  seems  that  in  that  book  a  new  man  was 
aroused  in  Sienkiewicz,  and  any  praise  said 
about  this  unrivaled  masterpiece  will  be  as 
pale  as  any  powerful  lamp  is  pale  compara- 
tively with  the  glory  of  the  sun.  For  instance, 
if  I  say  that  Sienkiewicz  has  made  a  thorough 
study  of  Nero's  epoch,  and  that  his  great  tal- 
ent and  his  plastic  imagination  created  the 
most  powerful  pictures  in  the  historical  back- 
ground, will  it  not  be  a  very  tame  praise,  com- 
pared with  his  book — which,  while  reading  it, 
one  shivers  and  the  blood  freezes  in  one's 
veins? 

In  "Quo  Vadis"  the  whole  alt  a  Roma,  be- 
ginning with  slaves  carrying  mosaics  for  their 
refined  masters,  and  ending  with  patricians, 
who  were  so  fond  of  beautiful  things  that  one 
of  them  for  instance  used  to  kiss  at  every  mo- 


32  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

ment  a  superb  vase,  stands  before  our  eyes  as 
if  it  was  reconstructed  by  a  magical  power 
from  ruins  and  death. 

There  is  no  better  description  of  the  burn- 
ing of  Rome  in  any  literature.  While  reading 
it  everything  turns  red  in  one's  eyes,  and  im- 
mense noises  fill  one's  ears.  And  the  moment 
when  Christ  appears  on  the  hill  to  the  fright- 
ened Peter,  who  is  going  to  leave  Rome,  not 
feeling  strong  enough  to  fight  with  mighty 
Caesar,  will  remain  one  of  the  strongest  pass- 
ages of  the  literature  of  the  whole  world. 

After  having  read  again  and  again  this 
great — shall  I  say  the  greatest  historical  nov- 
el?— and  having  wondered  at  its  deep  concep- 
tion, masterly  execution,  beautiful  language, 
powerful  painting  of  the  epoch,  plastic  de- 
scription of  customs  and  habits,  enthusiasm  of 
the  first  followers  of  Christ,  refinement  of  Ro- 
man civilization,  corruption  of  the  old  world. 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  33 

the  question  rises:  What  is  the  dominating 
idea  of  the  author,  spread  out  all  over  the 
whole  book?  It  is  the  cry  of  Christians  mur- 
dered in  circuses:  Pro  Christo! 

Sienkiewicz  searching  always  and  continu- 
ally for  a  tranquil  harbor  from  the  storms  of 
conscience  and  investigation  of  the  tormented 
mind,  finds  such  a  harbor  in  the  religious  sen- 
timents, in  lively  Christian  faith.  This  idea  is 
woven  as  golden  thread  in  a  silk  brocade,  not 
only  in  "Quo  Vadis,"  but  also  in  all  his  novels. 
In  "Fire  and  Sword"  his  principal  hero  is  an 
outlaw;  but  all  his  crimes,  not  pnly  against 
society,  but  also  against  nature,  are  redeemed 
by  faith,  and  as  a  consequence  of  it  afterward 
by  good  deeds.  In  the  "Children  of  the 
Soul,"  he  takes  one  of  his  principal  characters 
upon  one  of  seven  Roman  hills,  and  having 
displayed  before  him  in  the  most  eloquent  way 

the  might  of  the  old  Rome,  the  might  as  it 
3 


<°>4  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

never  existed  before  and  perhaps  never  will 
exist  again,  he  says:  "And  from  all  that  noth- 
ing is  left  only  crosses!  crosses!  crosses!"  It 
seems  to  us  that  in  "Quo  Vadis"  Sienkiewicz 
strained  all  his  forces  to  reproduce  from  one 
side  all  the  power,  all  riches,  all  refinement,  all 
corruption  of  the  Roman  civilization  in  order 
to  get  a  better  contrast  with  the  great  advant- 
ages of  the  cry  of  the  living  faith:  Pro 
Christo!  In  that  cry  the  asphyxiated  not  only 
in  old  times  but  in  our  days  also  find  refresh- 
ment: the  tormented  by  doubt,  peace.  From 
that  cry  flows  hope,  and  naturally  people  pre- 
fer those  from  whom  the  blessing  comes  to 
those  who  curse  and  doom  them. 

Sienkiewicz  considers  the  Christian  faith  as 
the  principal  and  even  the  only  help  which 
humanity  needs  to  bear  cheerfully  the  burden 
and  struggle  of  every-day  life.  Equally  his 
personal  experience  as  well  as  his  studies  made 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  35 

him  worship  Christ.  He  is  not  one  of  those 
who  say  that  religion  is  good  for  the  people 
at  large.  He  does  not  admit  such  a  shade  of 
contempt  in  a  question  touching  so  near  the 
human  heart.  He  knows  that  every  one  is  a 
man  in  the  presence  of  sorrow  and  the  conun- 
drum of  fate,  contradiction  of  justice,  tearing 
*"~'of  death,  and  uneasiness  of  hope.  He  believes 
that  the  only  way  to  cross  the  precipice  is  the 
flight  with  the  wings  of  faith,  the.  precipice 
made  between  the  submission  to  general  and 
absolute  laws  and  the  confidence  in  the  infinite 
goodness  of  the  Father. 

The  time  passes  and  carries  with  it  people 
and  doctrines  and  systems.  Many  authors 
left  as  the  heritage  to  civilization  rows  of 
books,  and  in  those  books  scepticism,  indiffer- 
ence, doubt,  lack  of  precision  and  decision. 

But  the  last  symptoms  in  the  literature  show 
us  that  the  Stoicism  is  not  sufficient  for  our 


36  IIENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

generation,  not  satisfied  with  Marcus  Aurel- 
ins's  gospel,  which  was  not  sufficient  even  to 
that  brilliant  Sienkiewicz's  Roman  arbiter  ele- 
gantiarum,  the  over-refined  patrician  Petron- 
ius.  A  nation  which  desired  to  live,  and  does 
not  wish  either  to  perish  in  the  desert  or  be 
drowned  in  the  mud,  needs  such  a  great  help 
which  only  religion  gives.  The  history  is  not 
only  magister  ritae,  but  also  it  is  the  master  of 
conscience. 

Literature  has  in  Sienkiewicz  a  great  poet — 
epical  as  well  as  lyrical. 

I  shall  not  mourn,  although  I  appreciate  the 
justified  complaint  about  objectivity  in  belles 
lettres.  But  now  there  is  no  question  what 
poetry  will  be;,  there  is  the  question  whether 
it  will  be,  and  I  believe  that  society,  being 
tired  with  Zola's  realism  and  its  caricature,  not 
with  the  picturesqueness  of  Loti,  but  with 
catalogues  of  painter's  colors;  not  with  the 


HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ.  37 

depth  of  Ibsen,  but  the  oddness  of  his  imita- 
tors— it  seems  to  me  that  society  will  hate  the 
poetry  which  discusses  and  philosophizes, 
wishes  to  paint  but  does  not  feel,  makes  arche- 
ology but  does  not  give  impressions,  and  that 
people  will  turn  to  the  poetry  as  it  was  in  the 
beginning,  what  is  in  its  deepest  essence,  to 
the  flight  of  single  words,  to  the  interior  mel- 
ody, to  the  song — the  art  of  sounds  being  the 
greatest  art.  I  believe  that  if  in  the  future 
the  poetry  will  find  listeners,  they  will  repeat 
to  the  poets  the  words  of  Paul  Verlaine,  whom 
by  too  summary  judgment  they  count  among 
incomprehensible  originals: 

"De  la  musiqite  encore  et  toujours." 

And  nobody  need  be  afraid  from  a  social 
point  of  view,  for  Sienkiewicz's  objectivity. 
It  is  *a  manly  lyricism  as  well  as  epic,  made 
deep  by  the  knowledge  of  the  life,  sustained 


38  HENRYK  SIENKIEWICZ. 

by  thinking,  until  now  perhaps  unconscious 
of  itself,  the  poetry  of  a  writer  who  walked 
many  roads,  studied  many  things,  knew  much 
bitterness,  ridiculed  many  triflings,  and  then 
he  perceived  that  a  man  like  himself  has  only 
one  aim:  above  human  affairs  "to  spin  the 
love,  as  the  silkworm  spins  its  web." 

S.  C.  DE  SOISSONS. 
"The  University,"  Cambridge,  Mass. 


HER    TRAGIC    FATE. 


HER    TRAGIC    FATE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"Blucher,"  the  German  emigrant  steamship 
running  between  Hamburg  and  New  York, 
was  rocking  across  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic 
ocean. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  4ay  of  the  voyage. 
Two  days  ago  it  had  passed  beyond  the  view 
of  Ireland's  green  borders,and  now  found  itself 
on  high  sea.  From  the  deck  nothing  was 
visible,  so  far  as  the  view  extended,  save  the 
even  desert  of  green  and  gray,  furrowed  and 
streaked  in  all  directions,  moving  slowly  and 
incessantly,  here  and  there  with  patches  of 
foam;  farther  away  becoming  darker  and 
more  and  more  shrouded,  and  finally  merging 
into  the  cloudy  horizon. 

41 


42  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

Here  and  there  these  bright  masses  of 
clouds  were  reflected  in  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  from  this  pearly  foundation  the 
ship's  dark  body  rose  majestically.  This  mas- 
sive-looking hull,  facing  toward  the  west, 
would  ascend  one  wave,  climbing  swiftly  up- 
ward, whereupon  it  plunged  into  the  depths 
beyond,  as  if  rushing  away,  never  again  to  be 
seen.  Now  entirely  invisible,  now  riding  high 
upon  the  back  of  the  foamy  waves — now  car- 
ried so  far  into  the  air  that  one  might  almost 
see  the  whole  of  its  bottom,  it  was  speeding 
onward,  safely  and  steadily.  One  wave  after 
another  rose  up  against  it:  the  ship  cut  into 
them,  drove  them  aside,  one  by  one,  and  pur- 
sued its  steady  course.  And  in  its  trail  was  a 
long  furrow  of  foam  not  unlike  a  gigantic  ser- 
pent. Over  and  about  the  stern  followed  a 
flock  of  gulls. 

A  favorable  wind  was  blowing;    the  ship 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  43 

went  half  speed,  and  the  sails  were  set.  The 
weather  seemed  to  grow  better  and  better. 
Here  and  there  the  mass  of  black  clouds  was 
shattered,  admitting  to  view  a  scrap  of  the 
blue  sky,  which  continually  changed  its  shape. 
Since  "Blucher"  left  the  harbor  at  Hamburg 
there  had  been  a  constant  wind  blowing,  yet 
without  any  approach  of  stormy  weather.  The 
westerly  breeze  would  occasionally  subside; 
then  the  sails  collapsed  with  a  soaring  noise, 
and  soon  afterward  the  wind  filled  them  anew, 
causing  them  to  expand  as  before.  The  sail- 
ors, in  their  close-fitting  wool  garments, 
pulled  a  rope  somewhere  about  the  main 
mast,  accompanying  each  strained  move- 
ment with  a  moaning  "Ho — ho — o,"  and 
raising  or  lowering  their  bodies  in  time  to 
the  cry,  which  mingled  with  the  sound 
of  the  officers'  whistle  and  the  fever- 
.ish  breathing  of  the  smokestack  with 


44  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

its  successive  black  clouds  and  light  rings  of 
smoke. 

The  passengers,  taking  advantage  of  the 
favorable  weather,  had  come  out  on  the  deck. 
At  the  stern  of  the  steamer  the  elegant  cloaks 
and  overcoats  of  the  first-class  passengers 
were  in  evidence.  Toward  the  bows  there 
was  a  motley  crowd  of  emigrants  that  com- 
manded only  the  accommodations  of  the  steer- 
age. Some  had  seated  themselves  on  bench- 
es, smoking  their  short-stemmed  pipes;  oth- 
ers stretched  themselves  at  full  length,  and 
still  others  stood  by  the  gunnel  looking  down 
into  the  water's  depths. 

There  were  several  women  with  children  on 
their  arms  and  divers  tin  utensils  fastened  at 
their  waists.  Young  men  walked  cautiously 
and  with  some  difficulty  up  and  down,  sing- 
ing, "Was  ist  des  Deutschen  Vaterland?" — 
thinking,  probably,  that  they  would  never 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  45 

again  see  this  fatherland,  which  idea  added 
nothing,  indeed,  to  their  cheerfulness. 

Among  this  crowd  were  two  persons  who 
kept  themselves  somewhat  apart  from  the 
common  jovial  intercourse.  It  was  an  old 
man  and  his  daughter.  Neither  had  learned 
Jo  master  the  German  tongue,  so  they  were 
really  quite  alone  among  strangers.  At  first 
glance  they  were  seen  to  be  strangers. 

The  man's  name  was  Lorenz  Toporek; 
Marys,  that  of  the  girl,  his  daughter.  They 
had  ventured  out  upon  the  deck  the  first  time 
a  few  moments  ago,  and  their  faces  bore  an 
expression  of  surprise  and  awe.  They  viewed 
their  fellow  passengers,  the  sailors,  the  steam- 
er, the  powerful,  imposing  smokestack,  and 
the  threatening  waves,  which  threw  their 
foam  out  over  the  ship, — they  viewed  all  this 
with  apprehension,  scarcely  daring  to  speak 
to  each  other.  Lorenz  held  the  railing  with 


46  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

one  hand  and  his  square  cap  with  the  other,  in 
order  to  prevent  the  wind  from  carrying  away 
this  necessary  garment.  The  girl  kept  close 
to  her  father;  at  each  movement  of  the  ship 
she  would  cling  to  him,  scarcely  able  to  sup- 
press the  ejaculation  of  terror  that  rose  to  her 
lips.  After  some  time  the  old  man  broke  the 
silence: 

"Marys." 

"What  is  it,  father?" 

"Do  you  see?" 

"I  do." 

"Do  you  wonder?" 

"I  do." 

Fear  was,  however,  far  stronger  than  won- 
der, in  the  girl's  mind.  Old  Lorenz,  himself, 
was  sim%rly  affected.  Happily  for  them  the 
violence  of  the  sea  had  now  somewhat  sub- 
sided; the  velocity  of  the  wind  decreased,  and 
the  sunshine  broke  through  the  clouds.  On 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  47 

seeing  the  "dear  sun"  they  again  were  re- 
lieved; it  was  the  same  as  had  always  shone 
over  Lipince.  But  here  everything  bore  new 
and  strange  traits;  only  the  bright,  beaming 
dial  of  the  sun  appeared  to  have  remained 
their  friend  and  protector. 

The  sea,  in  the  meantime,  became  more  and 
,~rnore  even  on  the  surface;  the  sails  hung 
down  loose,  and  from  the  high  bridge  sounded 
the  captain's  command,  whereat  the  sailors 
hastened  to  take  them  in.  The  sight  of  these 
men,  who  seemed  almost  to  float  in  the  air 
high  above  the  ocean's  waters,  filled  anew  the 
hearts  of  the  two  spectators  with  fear. 

"Our  boys  would  not  be  able  to  do  that," 
said  the  old  man. 

"Why,"  returned  Marys,  "if  the  Germans 
can  climb  as  high  as  up  there,  then  Jasko — he 
would  not  remain  below." 

"Which  Jasko?    Sobek?" 


48  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

"Sobek!— no,  I  speak  of  Smolak,  the 
groom." 

"He  is  an  able  boy,  but  you  must  think  no 
more  of  him.  He  is  not  fitted  for  you,  nor 
you  for  him.  Over  in  the  new  country  some- 
thing else  will  be  in  store  for  you.  He  is  but 
a  groom,  and  will  remain  such  all  his  life." 

"But  he  possesses  a " 

"Whatever  he  possesses,  it  is  located  in 
Lipince." 

Marys  made  no  reply,  but  merely  thought 
that  no  one  evades  fate.  She  sighed  with  a 
great  longing.  By  this  time  all  the  sail  had 
been  taken  in,  and  the  propellers  commenced 
pulsating  so  vigorously  that  the  whole  frame 
of  the  ship  vibrated.  The  rocking,  however, 
ceased  almost  entirely,  and  far  away  the  wa- 
ter's surface  appeared  quite  even  and  smooth. 
One  new  figure  after  another  appeared  on  the 
deck:  Workmen,  German  peasants,  vaga- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  49 

bonds  that  sought  adventure  instead  of  work 
in  the  new  world.  The  deck  became  filled  far 
beyond  its  capacity  with  crowds  of  people 
from  below,  so  the  two,  fearful  of  being  in 
any  one's  way,  retreated  to  an  obscure 
corner  and  seated  themselves  upon  a  coil 
of  cord. 

"Father,"  said  the  young  girl,  "how  long 
are  we  yet  to  remain  on  the  water?" 

"Do  I  know?  No  Christian  soul  can  an- 
swer such  a  question  as  that." 

"How  shall  we  make  ourselves  understood 
in  America?" 

"Have  I  not  told  you  that  we  should  find 
very  large  numbers  of  our  own  countrymen 
there?" 

"Little  father!" 

"What  is  it?" 

"It  is  true  that  here  is  much  to  wonder 
about,  but  it  was  far  better  in  Lipince." 


50  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

"Do  not  utter  such  sinful  words,"  retorted 
the  old  man.  But  in  another  moment  he  add- 
ed, in  an  undertone: 

"God's  will  be  done!" 

Tears  were  rising  in  the  girl's  eyes,  and 
both  she  and  her  father  thought  of  home. 
Lorenz  Toporek  considered  the  reason  why 
he  emigrated  to  America,  and  how  it  all  had 
come.  How  it  all  had  come?  Well,  half-a- 
year  ago — it  was  in  the  summer-time — some 
one  had  discovered  his  cow  browsing  about 
another  man's  meadow.  The  owner  of  this 
pasture  demanded  the  sum  of  three  ruble  for 
damage  sustained,  which  amount  Lorenz  de- 
clined to  pay.  They  took  the  matter  into  the 
courts,  and  the  decision  was  retarded.  Now 
the  man  who  claimed  damage  demanded  not 
only  the  aforesaid  sum  of  money,  but  also  a 
reimbursement  of  the  expense  incurred  in  the 
keeping  and  feeding  of  the  cow,  so  the  total 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  51 

grew  continually  larger.  Lorenz  stolidly  re- 
fused to  pay;  the  case  was  dragged  from  one 
court  into  another,  until  finally  the  decision 
went  against  Lorenz.  The  cow  had  by  this 
time  caused  him  considerable  expense,  and  in- 
asmuch as  he  was  without  means  the  creditor 
,-seized  upon  his  horse,  while  the  debtor  him- 
self must  suffer  imprisonment  for  contempt  of 
court.  Lorenz  objected  to  this  treatment 
with  might  and  main;  harvest  drew  near;  his 
hands  as  well  as  his  horse  were  indispensable 
to  the  work  required  for  the  maintenance  of 
his  farm.  In  spite  of  all  his  efforts  his  grain 
could  not,  however,  be  stored  in  due  time,  but 
remained  in  the  fields  where,  owing  to  the  ad- 
vent of  the  wet  season,  it  sprouted  and  was  all 
spoiled.  Now  he  stopped  to  consider  that 
owing  to  that  paltry  affair  of  the  meadow  a 
great  deal  of  money,  some  of  his  machinery 
and  all  of  the  year's  crop  had  been  lost,  conse- 


52  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

quently  all  that  was  left  for  the  subsistence  of 
himself  and  his  child  during  the  remainder  of 
the  year  was  only  such  Groschen  as  might  be 
begged  of  the  neighbors. 

As  he  had  been  heretofore  a  farmer  of  some 
means,  whose  affairs  were  above  reproach,  his 
anger  and  pain  led  him  to  drown  his  sorrows 
in  strong  drink.  At  the  public-house  he  now 
became  acquainted  with  some  Germans  that 
traveled  over  the  country,  ostensibly  for  the 
purpose  of  buying  up  hemp,  but  really  acting 
as  emigrant  agents.  One  of  them  told  the 
most  wonderful  stories  of  America.  He 
promised  to  every  one  more  free  land  than 
was  possessed  by  the  entire  town  of  Lipince, 
and,  in  addition,  woods  and  meadow-land, — 
until  the  peasants'  hearts  beat  with  joyful  an- 
ticipation and  desire.  Our  friend  had  some 
doubts  in  his  mind,  but  the  Jewish  adminis- 
trator of  a  neighboring  estate  corroborated 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  53 

the  statements  made  by  the  German,  asserting 
that  over  yonder  the  government  donated  to 
each  man  as  much  land  as  he  chose  to  care  for. 
This  the  Jew  had  learned  from  his  son-in-law. 
The  German  displayed  sundry  sums  of  money, 
the  like  of  which  had  not  been  seen  for  a  con- 
siderable length  of  time  by  either  the  peasant 
or  the  owner  of  larger  estates.  And  the  peas- 
ant was  tempted  so  often  that  he  at  length 
succumbed.  Why,  really,  should  he  remain 
where  he  was?  He  had  lost,  in  fact,  through 
the  lawsuit  so  much  money  that  it  would 
have  been  sufficient  for  the  keeping  of  a  ser- 
vant. Would  it  be  better  to  wait  until  every- 
thing was  lost  and  he  might  take  his  stand  by 
the  church-door,  a  stick  in  his  hand,  singing 
old,  popular  songs  to  win  a  penny  from  the 
listeners?  No,  that  would  lead  to  nothing! 
So  he  shook  hands  with  the  German;  toward 
fall  his  entire  property  was  sold;  he  brought 


54  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

his    daughter    away  and    went    with  her    to 
America. 

Yet  the  voyage  was  by  no  means  such  an 
easy  matter  as  he  imagined.  In  Hamburg  he 
was  required  to  pay  a  very  large  sum  of  mon- 
ey. On  the  ship  they  both  shared  the  cabin 
assigned  to  them  with  a  good  many  others. 
The  rocking  of  the  vessel  and  the  endlessness 
of  the  ocean  inspired  them  with  horror.  They 
possessed  no  pow?er  of  making  themselves  un- 
derstood; they  were  treated  like  lifeless 
things;  like  stones  in  every  one's  way  they 
were  pushed  from  one  side  to  another — a 
source  of  mockery  to  their  fellow-passengers. 
At  noon,  when  all  gathered  about  the  cook, 
with  plates  and  buckets  in  their  hands,  they 
were  thrust  back  among  the  last  ones,  so  that 
occasionally  their  hunger  was  not  at  all  stilled. 
How  miserable,  how  lonely  and  strange-like 
they  felt  on  board  this  ship.  Save  God  they 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  55 

had  no  protector.  Toward  his  daughter  the 
old  man  assumed  the  role  of  one  that  has  no 
fear;  he  wondered  at  everything  and  turned 
the  girl's  attention  to  everything  strange  and 
remarkable,  yet  without  trusting  to  the  gen- 
uineness of  anything.  He  often  feared  that 
"the  heathens,"  as  he  termed  the  other  pas- 

y 

sengers,  might  throw  himself  and  his  child 
into  the  water;  that  they  would  be  forced  to 
accept  some  new  religion,  or  that  somebody 
would  induce  them  to  sign  some  document  or 
other,  perhaps  even  a  bond  of  some  kind. 

And  this  ship,  which  sped  across  the  end- 
less surface  of  the  ocean  day  and  night, — it 
shook  and  moaned,  like  a  monster  breathing, 
until  the  waters  foamed  about  its  sides  and 
threw  out  fiery  sparks  into  all  directions, — 
even  that  appeared  to  the  old  peasant  a  sus- 
picious, indomitable  source  of  power.  His 
heart  was  full  of  childish  fears,  though  he 


56  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

did    his    best    to    conceal    them     from    his 
daughter. 

Was,  however,  this  Polish  peasant,  who 
skipped  out  of  his  old  nest, — was  he  not  like  a 
defenseless  child,  always  dependent  upon  tlie 
grace  of  God?  Besides,  it  seemed  impossible 
that  all  the  new  things  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded could  be  assigned  to  their  proper 
place  in  his  head,  and  so  we  must  not  wonder 
that  he,  while  sitting  on  the  coil  of  rope,  bent 
his  poor  head  under  the  burden  of  care  and 
uncertainty.  The  cool  breeze  that  waved 
across  the  ocean  whispered  into  his  ear: 
"Lipince, — Lipince!"  The  sun  seemed  to 
call  to  him:  "How  do  you  do,  Lorenz,  old 
friend!  I  just  passed  over  Lipince;" — but  the 
screw  hurled  away  the  water  incessantly;  the 
smokestack  kept  on  puffing  and  puffing.  Both 
appeared  to  him  evil  spirits  that  crushed  him 
further  and  further  out  into  destruction. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  57 

The  girl,  whose  attention  had  for  a  while 
been  arrested  by  the  flock  of  gulls  which  fol- 
lowed in  the  foamy  trail  of  the  ship,  was  oc- 
cupied by  a  different  line  of  thought.  She  re- 
called to  herself  those  autumn  evenings  in 
Lipince,  when,  at  a  late  hour,  she  had  gone 
down  to  the  well  with  her  bucket.  The  stars 
twinkled  from  the  sky  far  above;  the  air  was 
clear  and  calm.  She  let  down  her  bucket  and 
pulled  it  up  again,  humming  some  old  tune, 
— she  felt  as  mild  and  great  a  longing  as  that 
of  the  swallow  which  prepares  itself  for  a  flight 

into  a  strange  land. Then,  suddenly 

from  out  of  the  stillness  of  the  forest  there 
came  a  sound,  a  long  tone — the  sign  which 
tells  her  that  Jasko  had  observed  the  move- 
ment of  the  well-sweep.  Nor  does  a  long 
time  pass  before  he  comes  driving  up,  jumps 
from  the  wagon,  shakes  his  flax-like  hair,  and 
— and  never  will  she  forget  the  words  that 


58  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

passed  from  his  lips  then  and  there.  She 
closed  her  eyes  and  thought  she  heard  anew 
the  voice  that  trembled  in  her  ear: 

"If  your  father  persists  in  his  unreasonable 
determination,  well  and  good; — I  give  up  my 
place,  dispose  of  my  hut  and  what  else  belongs 
to  me,  and  follow  you.  Marys,  my  own,"  said 
he,  "then  I,  too,  shall  fly  away  on  the  wing  of 
the  wind,  swim  through  the  ocean,  seek  you 
in  the  wilderness, — my  beloved, — and  find 
you!  Where  you  go  I  must  follow;  whatever  • 
you  suffer,  I,  too,  must  go  through.  We  are 
united  in  life  and  death.  And  as  I  have  made 
you  this  promise  over  the  water  of  this  well,  I 
ask  that  God  forsake  me  if  I  ever  leave  you, — 
Marys,  my  own!" 

Recalling  to  her  mind  these  words  the  girl 
saw  before  her  the  well,  the  ruddy-looking 
dial  of  the  moon,  which  rose  behind  the  forest, 
and  her  Jasko,  who  stood  before  her,  live  and 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  59 

strong.  These  thoughts  were  a  source  of 
much  consolation  to  her  troubled  heart. 
Jasko  was  a  determined  young  fellow,  and  she 
never  doubted  that  he  would  do  as  he  told  her 
then  and  there.  Ah,  how  she  wished  he  was 
already  with  her,  and  that  he  and  she  could 
listen  together  to  the  roar  of  the  sea.  On  his 
account  she  had  no  fear  whatever;  he  feared 
nobody,  and  was  able  to  take  care  of  himself 
anywhere. 

She  wondered  what  he  might  be  doing  now, 
when  the  first  snow  had  likely  fallen  at  Lip- 
ince.  Had  he  gone  to  the  woods  with  his  axe, 
felling  trees?  Was  he  tending  his  horses,  or 
had  they  sent  him  out  with  the  sleigh  on  some 
errand?  Where  might  her  lover  now  be? 
Before  her  vision  arose  a  picture  of  her  native 
town,  as  it  lay  there,  the  snow  covering  the 
frozen  roads; — the  ruddy  tinge  of  the  sunset 
covering  the  dark  branches  of  the  leafless 


60  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

trees; — the  flocks  of  crows  and  jackdaws 
that  went  quacking  from  the  forest  down  over 
the  village;  the  bands  of  smoke  which  rose 
from  the  chimneys  toward  the  sky,  as  straight 
as  candles;  the  crust  of  ice  around  the  edge  of 
the  well, and  over  there,  in  the  back- 
ground, the  woods  bathed  in  the  reddish  glare 
of  the  setting  sun. 

Ah,  and  where  w^as  she  herself?  Where  had 
her  father's  will  brought  her?  As  far  as  one 
can  see  there  is  water,  water,  nothing  but 
greenish,  foamy  furrows,  and  on  this  immeas- 
urable ocean  nothing  was  visible  save  this 
ship,  which  seemed  like  a  stray  bird.  Above 
her  the  sky,  below,  the  infinite  desert  of  water, 
the  rush  of  the  waves, — about  her  the  wind 

howling, and  there,  the  stem  oi  the 

ship  pointing  toward  the  promised  land. 

Poor  Jasko,  will  you  be  able  to  find  her  over 
there?  Will  the  breeze  and  the  waves  carrv 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  61 

you   to   her?     Do  you  think  of  her  in   Li- 
pince? 

Slowly  the  sun  sinks  down  in  the  west  and 
disappears  in  the  ocean.  Over  the  furrowy 
waves  rests  a  broad,  sparkling  band,  which 
shines  with  a  golden,  glittering  light,  rising 
and  falling,  until  at  length  it  disappears  far, 
far  away.  The  ship,  continuing  its  course 
along  a  golden  stream,  now  appears  to  speed 
directly  toward  the  sinking  sun.  The  mighty 
bands  of  smoke  assume  a  ruddy  tinge,  like- 
wise the  sail  and  the  ropes.  Now  the  seamen 
begin  to  sing,  whilst  the  orb  in  the  sky  grows 
larger  and  larger.  Soon  there  is  but  one-half 
of  it  above  the  water,  then  the  rays  alone  are 
visible,  whereupon  the  whole  of  the  western 
sky  assumes  a  fiery  glow.  The  sky,  the  air 
and  the  water  form  one  great  mass  of  light, 
which  finally  fades  out  by  degrees.  The  rush 
of  the  water  is  more  subdued;  milder  than  be- 


62  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

fore,  as  if  the  waves  now  say  their  evening 
prayers. 

In  such  moments  the  soul  of  man  seems  en- 
dowed with  wings;  all  that  it  loves  is  folded 
more  warmly  in  its  embrace;  it  soars  toward 
everything  for  which  it  is  longing.  Lorenz 
and  Marys  both  felt  that  the  wind  was  now 
carrying  them  to  a  foreign  place,  and  that  the 
tree  from  which  they  originated  had  no  roots 
in  the  soil  they  now  approached.  Their  own 
roots  still  remained  in  the  place  from  which 
they  had  departed.  Polish  soil,  fruitful,  with 
flowery,  moist,  glistening  meadows,  where 
storks  would  stalk  about — the  white  mansions 
amidst  blooming  linden-trees; — swallows  sail- 
ing about  the  straw-covered  huts; — numerous 
representations  of  the  Crucifixion,  where  one 
would  pull  off  his  cap,  saying:  "Praise  unto 
Jesus  Christ,"  eventually  receiving  the  re- 
joinder, "In  eternity,  amen;" — Poland,  our  be- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  63 

loved  mother,  dear  to  us  above  anything  else 
in  the  world!  What  the  simple  minds  of  the 
two  peasants  had  not  before  dreamed  of,  was 
now  before  them.  Lorenz  pulled  off  his  cap; 
the  fading  sunlight  touched  his  grayish  hair. 
His  thoughts  came  and  passed,  but  with  great 

^difficulty,  as  it  was  not  clear  to  him  how  the 
p- 
things  that  weighed  upon  his  mind  could  be 

made  clear  to  the  child. 

At  length  he  began : 

"Marys,  it  seems  to  me  that  something  has 
been  left  behind  over  beyond  the  sea." 

"Happiness  has  remained  behind,  and  so 
has  love,"  returned  the  girl,  in  a  subdued  tone, 
raising  her  eyes  like  in  prayer. 

In  the  meantime  darkness  set  in,  and  the 
travelers  gradually  retired  from  the  deck. 
There  was  an  uncommon  stir  all  about 
the  ship,  however.  A  beautiful  sunset  is 
scarcely  ever  followed  by  a  peaceful,  quiet 


G4  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

night,  so  the  officers'  whistles  sounded  every- 
where, and  the  sailors  manoeuvred  about, 
pulling  the  ropes.  The  last  purple-colored 
rays  had  scarcely  been  drowned  in  the  sea, 
when  a  dense  fog  arose,  as  it  seemed,  out  of 
the  water,  and  the  stars,  hitherto  scarcely  visi- 
ble, disappeared  from  view.  The  fog,  grow- 
ing denser  and  denser,  shrouded  the  entire 
structure  of  the  ship.  Only  ^Jie  main  mast 
and  the  smokestack  were  yet  protruding,  but 
the  figures  of  the  sailors  appeared  like  dark 
shades.  In  the  course  of  one  hour  everything 
was  wrapped  in  a  cloak  of  misty  white,  even 
the  lighted  lantern  that  had  been  fastened  to 
the  end  of  the  main  mast,  and  the  sparks 
which  came  soaring  out  of  the  smokestack. 

All  rocking  on  the  part  of  the  ship  had 
ceased,  and  one  felt  as  if  the  weight  of  the 
fog  had  even  paralyzed  the  force  of  the  waves. 

Night  came, — a  dark,  dull  night.    Suddenly 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  65 

there  sounded  through  the  deep  quiet  of  the 
darkness  a  singular  roar,  emanating,  as  it 
seemed,  from  the  remotest  line  of  the  horizon. 
It  made  the  impression  of  a  giant's  breath, 
approaching  nearer  and  nearer.  Sometime  one 
thought  he  heard  voices  calling  from  out  of 
the  darkness;  then  there  was  a  tempest  of  sad, 
moaning  cries, — a  powerful  rush  of  voices 
soaring  toward  the  ship  from  out  of  infinitude 
beyond. 

Some  sailors,  on  hearing  these  sounds,  ex- 
pressed themselves  to  the  effect  that  now  tHe 
storm  fetched  the  winds  out  of  hell. 

The  signs  of  perturbances  became  more  and 
more  plain.  The  captain,  wrapped  in  a  rubber 
cloak  and  cap,  mounted  the  steps  of  the  high- 
est bridge,  while  one  of  the  officers  took  up 
his  position  next  to  the  compass,  which  was 
illumined  with  a  strong  light.  There  were 
no  more  travelers  on  deck;  Lorenz  and  his 


66  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

daughter  had  retired  to  their  places  down  in 
the  steerage.  The  lamps,  fastened  to  the  ceil- 
ing of  the  low  arch  which  overhung  the  space, 
lighted  but  faintly  the  group  of  emigrants. 
Quiet  reigned  among  these  people,  who  had 
seated  themselves  on  their  berches  along  the 
walls.  The  space  was  large  and  somber,  as  is 
always  the  case  with  the  portions  of  the  lower 
decks  allotted  to  travelers  of  scant  means.  The 
berths,  which  ran  along  the  side  of  the  ship, 
seemed  like  dark  caves  rather  than  sleeping 
places,  and  the  whole  bore  a  disagreeable  re- 
semblance to  a  vaulted  cellar.  The  air  was 
saturated  with  a  smell  of  tarred  canvas,  hemp 
ropes  and  perpetual  moisture.  How  far  apart 
from  here  the  gorgeous  salons  of  the  First 
Cabin  seemed.  Even  a  brief  sojourn  in  these 
miserable  steerage-cabins  poisons  the  lungs 
with  impure  air,  blanches  the  cheeks  and  gives 
frequently  rise  to  scurvy.  Lorenz  and  his 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  67 

daughter  were  but  four  days  on  the  water,  but 
anyone  that  had  previously  known  the  rosy- 
cheeked,  blooming  village  child  would  scarce- 
ly have  recognized  her  in  this  dejected-look- 
ing maiden. 

Even  old  Lorenz  had  become  yellow  and 
shrivelled-looking,  as  they  had  not  until  this 
day  ventured  out  upon  the  deck.  They 
thought  it  was  forbidden !  Scarcely  daring  to 
stir,  they  also  hesitated  about  leaving  alone 
their  hand-baggage.  And  not  only  they,  but 
most  of  the  other  passengers  kept  close  to 
their  belongings.  The  steerage  was  fairly 
blocked  with  all  kinds  of  emigrants'  bundles, 
and  the  general  disorder  prevailing  did  much 
to  intensify  the  dismal  aspect  of  the  place. 
Bedclothes,  garments,  articles  of  food  and  kit- 
chen utensils  lay  scattered  all  over  the  floor. 
Among  the  packages  and  bundles  the  emi- 
grants rested  in  different  attitudes,  the  ma- 


68  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

jority  being  Germans.  Some  chewed  tobacco, 
others  smoked;  dense  clouds  of  smoke 
clogged  the  narrow  space  and  dimmed  the 
faint  glare  of  the  lamps.  There  were  some 
children  sitting  in  different  corners,  but  their 
merry  romps  had  ceased,  as  the  fog  had  filled 
everyone  with  evil  forebodings,  fear  and  un- 
rest. The  more  experienced  persons  among 
the  emigrants  knew  that  a  storm  was  coming, 
yet  every  one  felt  that  danger,  perhaps  even 
death,  was  ahead.  Only  Lorenz  and  Marys 
realized  nothing  save  the  ominous  noise  that 
was  heard  from  overhead,  whenever  anybody 
pushed  his  way  into  the  cabin-room. 

Both  were  sitting  in  the  narrowest  nook, 
nearest  to  the  keel,  where  the  rocking  wras  felt 
more  intensely  than  in  other  parts  of  the  ship. 
They  had  been  pushed  down  here  by  their  fel- 
low-passengers. The  old  man  had  just  begun 
to  refresh  himself  with  a  piece  of  home-made 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  69 

bread,  while  Marys,  tired  of  being  idle,  plaited 
her  hair  for  the  night. 

Little  by  little  the  general  silence  roused 
their  attention  and  wonder. 

"Why  are  the  Germans  so  quiet  to-day?" 
asked  she. 

"How  can  I  know!"  replied  Lorenz,  as  us- 
ual. "Probably  they  celebrate  some  holiday, 
or  maybe  something  else — " 

Suddenly  a  powerful  shock  passed  through 
the  whole  structure  of  the  ship.  It  almost 
seemed  to  collapse  and  sink;  the  tin  utensils 
clashed  together;  the  lamps  flickered  up  as  if 
trying  to  catch  breath,  and  several  voices 
cried  out: 

"What  does  this  mean? — what  has  hap- 
pened?" 

Nobody  answered.  Another  shock,  more 
powerful  than  the  first,  now  passed  from  one 
part  of  the  steamer  to  another.  The  fore 


70  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

part  rose  high  into  the  air  and  in  the  next 
moment  fell  back  into  its  former  position, 
while  a  wave  came  rolling  up  against  the  bull's 
eye. 

"A  storm  is  coming!"  whispered  Marys, 
quite  frightened. 

In  the  meantime  the  wind  soared  about  the 
ship,  like  the  storm  sweeping  down  among 
the  trees  in  the  forest.  There  was  a  sound 
which  seemed  like  the  sighing  and  moaning  of 
thousands.  The  gale  occasionally  swept 
against  the  ship,  forced  it  down  to  one  side, 
turned  it  around  and  lifted  it  high  up,  as  if 
preparing  to  precipitate  it  among  the  depths 
beyond.  It  creaked  in  every  corner;  all  loose 
articles  were  thrown  down  upon  the  deck. 
Several  persons  tumbled  down  from  their 
berths,  tearing  with  them  the  beddings  and 
clothes,  and  the  glassware  rattled  dismally. 

Again  a  deep  soaring;  the  rush  and  wash  of 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  71 

the  waves,  as  they  overflowed  the  upper  deck, 
the  quivering  of  the  vessel;  shrieking  women, 
yelling  children;  people  hunting  together 
their  property;  and  amidst  this  chaotic  condi- 
tion of  things  the  penetrating  shrill  of  the  offi- 
cers' whistles,  or  the  heavy  footsteps  of  the 
sailors  upon  the  upper  and  lower  decks. 

"Holy  Virgin  of  Czestochau!"  whispered 
Marys. 

Now  the  fore  part  of  the  ship,  where  father 
and  daughter  were  sitting,  rose  and  fell  with 
appalling  swiftness.  Although  they  clung  in 
agony  to  their  berths,  the  movement  was  for- 
cible enough  to  throw  them  with  some  force 
against  the  wall.  From  moment  to  moment 
the  noise  of  the  waves  increased,  and  the  decks 
creaked  so  intensely  that  those  underneath  ex- 
pected a  collapse  of  the  ceiling  any  minute. 

"Hold  on,  Marys!"  cried  Lorenz,  hoping  to 
be  heard  above  the  noise  of  the  wind,  but  very 


72  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

soon  fear  lamed  his  tongue  as  well  as  that  of 
the  others.  Within  the  cabin  everything  was 
oppressively  quiet;  everyone  clung  to  this  or 
that  thing,  caught  in  the  frenzy  of  the  mo- 
ment, holding  his  breath. 

The  fury  of  the  storm  constantly  increased; 
all  Nature's  elements  appeared  to  be  set  free. 
Darkness  deepened  the  fog  all  about.  Sky 
and  water  plunged  into  each  other;  the  wind 
carried  the  foam  in  everywhere.  The  waves, 
like  heavy  artillery,  beat  upon  the  steamer, 
turned  it  right  and  left,  up  and  down.  Now 
and  then  a  foaming  mountain  of  water  would 
rush  past  and  across  the  ship,  inundating 
everything  in  its  course. 

Little  by  little  the  oil  in  the  steerage  lamps 
was  consumed,  and  at  length  the  light  dwin- 
dled down,  whereupon  darkness  prevailed  all 
around.  Marys  and  Lorenz  felt  as  if  the  eter- 
nal night  of  death  had  descended  upon  them. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  73 

"Marys,"  commenced  the  peasant,  catching 
his  breath,  "Marys,  forgive  me  that  I  brought 
you  away  into  destruction.  Our  last  hour  has  * 
come.  Our  sinful  eyes  shall  no  more  look 
out  upon  the  world.  Without  a  last  confes- 
sion, without  the  extreme  unction,  we,  mis- 
erable as  we  are,  must  face  eternity.  We  are 
deprived  even  of  a  resting  place  in  the  earth's 
soil,  and  must  be  content  with  a  grave  in  the 
sea." 

Marys,  hearing  him  speak  thus,  knew  there 
was  no  hope  for  them.  Through  her  mind 
many  thoughts  were  passing  now,  but  amidst 
it  all  her  soul  cried  out  in  agony: 

"Jasko,  Jasko,  my  beloved,  can  you  hear  me 
in  far-away  Lipince?" 

A  terrible  pain  pressed  her  heart  together 
within  her,  and  it  commenced  beating  hard. 
Amidst  the  occasional  lull,  when  the  quiet  of 
the  cabin  was  left,  one  might  hear  the  girl's 


U  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

loud  sobbing.  From  one  of  the  corners  a 
voice  broke  out:  "Be  still!"  but  was  mute 
again,  as  though  the  person  was  scared  at  his 
own  outcry.  One  of  the  lamp  glasses  fell 
down  and  was  shattered.  The  passengers 
now  crowded  together  in  a  corner,  in  order 
that  they  might  at  least  be  nearer  to  one  an- 
other. A  hush,  full  of  anxiety,  prevailed  in 
the  crowd,  when  amidst  deep  silence  the  voice 
of  the  peasant  rang  out: 

"Kyrie  Eleison!" 

"Christus  Eleison!''  returned  Marys. 

"May  Christ  hear  us!" 

"Almighty,  heavenly  Father,  have  mercy 
upon  us!" 

Both  repeated  the  conventional  prayers. 
The  old  man's  voice,  filling  the  silent  space, 
and  the  maiden's  supplications,  often  stifled 
by  sobs,  lent  a  singular  solemnity  to  the  scene. 
Some  of  the  emigrants  uncovered  their  heads. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  75 

Little  by  little  the  girl  regained  her  compos- 
ure ;  the  voices  became  more  and  more  steady, 
and  from  without  the  wind  continued  to  ren- 
der its  dull,  monotonous  accompaniment. 

Suddenly  those  nearest  to  the  entrance 
raised  their  voices  to  a  loud  cry.  A  wave  of 
unusual  size  had  forced  its  way  through  the 
upper  door  and  rolled  down  over  the  staircase 
through  the  steerage.  There  was  a  splashing 
of  water  in  all  corners;  the  women  cried  out  in 
agony  and  retreated  hastily  to  their  berths. 
Everyone  thought  his  last  hour  had  arrived. 

A  moment  afterward  one  of  the  officers,  ex- 
cited and  wet  from  head  to  foot,  opened  the 
door  and  entered,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  lan- 
tern. In  a  few  words  he  reassured  the  women 
and  stated  that  the  water  had  come  in  only 
by  accident.  As  the  ship  sailed  in  the  open 
sea,  there  was  no  great  danger. 

Nearly  two  hours  had  passed.    The  storm 


76  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

\vas  yet  increasing  in  violence;  the  ship  broke 
away  at  a  fearful  speed,  creaking  throughout 
its  structure,  tumbled  from  side  to  side,  but 
without  sinking.  By  and  by  the  people  were 
appeased;  many  of  them  even  sought  their 
berths.  In  the  course  of  the  next  few  hours 
one  ray  of  light  after  another  forced  its  way 
through  the  bull's  eyes,  shattering  darkness 
within  and  filling  the  cabin  with  the  gray  haze 
of  the  dawning  day.  Light  fell  upon  the 
waters  all  about, — the  pale,  dazed  light  of  a 
stormy  day,  yet  it  brought  to  the  exhausted 
passengers  fresh  courage  and  hope.  Lorenz 
and  Marys,  having  said  all  the  prayers  they 
knew  by  heart,  slipped  into  their  berths  and 
fell  asleep  in  an  instant. 

The  bell,  calling  out  for  breakfast,  roused 
them,  but  they  could  eat  nothing.  Their  heads 
were  as  heavy  as  if  they  carried  therein  a  bur- 
den of  lead.  The  old  man  felt  considerably 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  77 

more  exhausted  than  the  girl;  his  dull  senses 
were  scarcely  able  to  comprehend  anything 
that  passed  about  him.  The  German  who 
had  persuaded  him  to  emigrate  to  America 
had  told  him  it  was  necessary  to  cross  the 
water,  but  never  had  he  supposed  this  sheet 
of  water  to  be  so  large ;  never  had  he  thought 
that  the  voyage  would  extend  over  so  many 
days  and  nights.  It  \vas  true  enough,  as  he 
had  surmised,  that  a  ship  of  some  kind  must 
carry  him  across, — he  had  crossed  rivers  and 
lakes  a  good  many  times  in  his  lifetime, — yet 
in  case  it  would  have  been  explained  to  him 
how  great  the  ocean  really  was,  he  would  cer- 
tainly have  remained  in  Lipince.  And  besides, 
another  thought  troubled  him.  Had  he  not 
really  reduced  his  own  soul  and  that  of  his 
child  to  destruction  and  doom?  Did  he,  a 
good  Christian, — did  he  not,  in  taking  leave  of 
Lipince,  commit  a  great  sin  and  plunge  into 


~8  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

a  labyrinth  through  which  he  and  his  child 
must  move  for  five  days  and  more,  ere  they 
could  reach  the  opposite  shore,  if  such  a  shore 
there  really  was? 

His  fears  and  doubts  were  destined,  how- 
ever, to  last  more  than  seven  days.  The  storm 
continued  for  about  two  days,  then  the 
weather  once  more  became  quiet.  So  they 
once  more  took  courage  enough  to  walk  out 
upon  the  deck,  but  the  sight  of  the  immense 
force  of  the  restless  ocean, — these  gigantic 
mountains  of  water,  which  rolled  past  the 
ship,  across,  made  them  reflect  once  more 
upon  the  question  if  anyone  except  God, — 
if  anything  short  of  Divine  power, — if  any 
plan  of  human  origin  could 'carry  them  over  to 
the  safe  coast  beyond. 

At  length  the  sky  grew  perfectly  clear  and 
serene.  One  day  passed  like  another,  and 
from  the  steamer  one  saw  as  before  nothing 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  79 

but  the  endless  sheet  of  water,  now  shining 
with  a  silvery  splendor,  now  wrapped  in  a 
greenish  hue,  and  far,  far  away  the  union  of 
sea  and  sky.  Bright  clouds  rose  here  and 
there  against  the  blue  above;  toward  evening 
they  would  assume  a  rosy  tone,  which  faded 
out  when  the  sun  went  down  far  away  in  the 


The  ship  rapidly  pursued  its  way  in  the 
same  direction  as  before.  Lorenz  thought  the 
ocean  would  never  end.  At  length  he  gathered 
up  courage  enough  to  inquire  of  someone.  So 
one  day  he  pulled  off  his  square-cut  cap, 
bowed  obediently  to  one  of  the  sailors  who 
passed  by,  and  asked  the  following  question: 

"Gnadiger  Herr,  will  this  voyage  last 
long?" 

And  to  his  great  wonder  the  sailor  not  only 
refrained  from  laughing  outright*,  but  even 
condescended  to  stand  still  and  listen.  The 


80  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

muscles  in  his  rough,  weather-beaten  face 
twitched  like  in  a  great  effort,  or  as  if  he 
labored  with  remembrances  that  refused  to 
take  shape  at  once.  After  a  while  he  opened 
his  mouth  and  spoke: 

"What?" 

"Will  it  take  us  long  time  to  reach  firm 
soil,  gnadiger  Herr?" 

"Two  days,  two  days,"  returned  the  sail- 
or in  a  weary  tone,  but  using  the 
peasant's  mother  tongue.  To  make  it  per- 
fectly intelligible  he  stretched  out  two  fin- 
gers. 

"I  thank  you  humbly." 

"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

"From  Lipince." 

"And  what  is  Lipince?" 

Marys,  who  had  come  forward  during  this 
discourse,  flushed  over  and  over,  but,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  the  sailor's  stoical  face,  answered 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  8i 

in  that  high-pitched  tone  usually  found  among 
peasant  girls: 

"We  came  from  the  province  of  Posen, 
gnadiger  Herr." 

The  man  stared  thoughtfully  at  the  brass 
clamps  by  which  the  boards  of  the  deck  were 
^  held  together,  whereupon  he  allowed  his 
glance  to  pass  over  the  girl's  flaxy  hair.  A 
slight  shadow  of  something  like  an  emotion 
passed  over  his  hardened  features.  Then  he 
continued,  by  way  of  explanation: 

"I  once  lived  in  Danzig,  therefore  I  under- 
stand the  Polish  language.  My  name  is  Kas- 
zuba,  and  some  time  long  ago  I  was  your 
countryman.  Now  I  am  a  German." 

Having  said  this  he  once  more  took  hold  of 
the  rope  at  which  he  had  been  pulling,  turned 
away  and  pulled  the  line,  calling  out  his 
"ho — o — o,"  after  the  fashion  of  seamen. 

Whenever    Lorenz    and    Marys    afterward 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

appeared  on  deck,  he  would  give  the  girl  a 
kind  glance  and  a  smile  as  soon  as  he  caught 
sight  of  her.  So  the  two  forsaken  ones  had  at 
least  one  living  soul  on  the  large  emigrant 
steamer  who  wished  them  well.  Still,  the 
voyage  would  soon  be  ended.  When,  in  the 
morning  of  the  second  day  following,  they 
came  out  on  the  deck,  a  singular  object  ar- 
rested their  attention.  They  saw  at  a  distance 
a  dark  object  which  floated  on  the  water  and 
was  moved  back  and  forth  by  its  movements. 
Approaching  they  observed  that  it  was  a  large, 
red  tun,  with  which  the  waves  played  continu- 
ously. Far  away  there  appeared  another  and 
yet  another.  Both  air  and  water  seemed 
shrouded  in  a  fog,  fine  and  mild.  The  ocean's 
surface  scarcely  stirred,  and  the  farther  the 
view  extended  the  more  tuns  were  visible, 
rocking  on  the  sea.  Great  flocks  of  white 
birds  with  black  wings  circled  around  the  ship 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  83 

and  followed  it  like  dense  clouds,  screaming 
and  piping.  An  unusual  bustle  reigned  on  the 
deck.  The  sailors  had  donned  new  clothes; 
some  polished  the  brass  ornaments  here  and 
there,  others  were  busy  in  the  rigging.  A  flag 
was  hoisted  in  one  of  the  masts,  and  another 
larger  one  paraded  in  the  stern. 

All  the  travelers  looked  glad  and  fresh. 
Some  emigrants  were  busy  among  their  hand- 
baggage,  gathering  together  their  belongings 
and  lacing  them  into  bundles  in  the  most  con- 
venient manner. 

Marys,  noticing  this,  said  to  her  father: 

"It  seems,  in  spite  of  everything,  that  we  are 
approaching  land." 

A  new,  invigorating  feeling  came  over  both 
persons.  On  the  eastern  sky  rose  the  island  of 
Sandy  Hook,  and  soon  afterward  came  into 
view  another  island,  crowned  with  a  huge 
building.  Far  away  the  misty  atmosphere 


84  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

seemed  to  become  concentrated  in  a  dense 
haze,  which  assumed  the  shape  of  distant, 
indistinct  stripes  extending  across  the  water's 
surface.  The  passengers  grew  more  and  more 
interested;  all  hands  pointed  toward  these 
objects;  the  steamer  sounded  its  powerful 
whistle  with  a  penetrating,  shrill  cry,  as  if  it, 
too,  was  anxious  to  give  vent  to  its  joy. 

"What  is  that?"  inquired  Lorenz. 

"New  York,"  replied  Kaszuba,  who  was 
standing  at  his  side. 

The  foggy  outlines  now  successively  re- 
treated and  became  effaced,  and  the  steamer, 
as  it  progressed  farther  and  farther,  brought 
into  view  the  contours  of  houses,  roofs  and 
chimneys.  Pointed  spires  rose  more  and  more 
plainly  and  the  outlines  of  towers  and  high 
factory  smokestacks,  surrounded  by  dense 
clouds  of  smoke,  became  visible  everywhere. 
About  the  feet  of  the  city  clustered  a  forest  of 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  85 

ships'  masts  with  flags  in  different  patterns 
and  shades,  which  fluttered  in  the  breeze. 
Closer  and  closer  the  steamer  approached; 
more  and  more  plainly  did  the  beautiful  city 
shoot  tip,  as  it  were,  from  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  Now  old  Lorenz  was  conscious  of  a 
great  joy  and  a  great  surprise.  He  put  off 
his  cap,  opened  his  mouth  and  stared  at  the 
revelation  in  speechless  amazement.  Then  he 
turned  toward  the  girl,  saying: 

"Marys!" 

"Father,  for  heaven's  sake,  what  may  this 
be?" 

"Do  you  see  it  all?" 

"I  do." 

"And  do  you  wonder?" 

"I  do  wonder." 

Lorenz,  however,  did  not  only  wonder;  he 
was  full  of  avidity.  As  he  recognized  the  firm 
lines  of  the  shore  along  the  city's  edge,  the 


86  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

parks  and  open  squares,  he  poured  out  his 
heart:  • 

"Now  then,  God  be  praised  if  they  will  give 
me  some  land  and  a  homestead  near  the  city, 
— the  right  place  would  be  close  to  the  mead- 
ows yonder.  At  fair-time  there  would  be 
splendid  opportunities  for  bringing  in  your 
cow  and  your  hog  and  selling  them  at  good 
figures.  Here  are  people,  it  seems,  as  numer- 
ous as  the  sands  on  the  ocean's  shore.  I, 
from  being  a  mere  peasant  in  Poland,  shall 
become  a  real  gentleman  here." 

As  they  passed  by  a  park,  Lorenz,  looking 
at  the  select  groups  of  trees,  continued,  en- 
thusiastically: 

"I  shall  go  before  the  most  gracious,  the 
commissioner,  and  address  him  in  the  very 
choicest  language  I  know,  and  ask  him  give 
me  two  acres  of  this  beautiful  forest.  If  we 
shall  build  a  homestead  it  must  be  one  worth 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  87 

looking  at.  We'll  clear  out  some  of  the  trees 
and  let  our  hired  man  go  to  town  with  the 
wood.  It  will  be  sold  easily  enough.  The 
Lord  Almighty  be  praised,  I  see  that  the  Ger- 
man has  not  taken  advantage  of  me." 

Even  to  the  girl  the  view  of  a  life  in  wealth 
now  became  quite  pleasant,  yet  she  did  not 
know  why  at  that  moment  she  found  herself 
thinking  of  the  little  song  with  which  a  bride 
always  receives  her  husband,  at  Lipince: 

Who  mayest  thou  be, 

What  sort  of  man? 
All  thou  possesseth  is 

A  cap  and  a  caftan. 

Was  she  to  sing  that  hymn  to  her  Jasko, 
when  he  would  come  and  find  her  the  heiress 
of  a  large  estate? 

In  the  meantime  a  boat  from  the  quaran- 
tine office  came  up  to  the  steamer.  Several 
men  came  aboard,  and  there  was  much  talk- 
ing and  considerable  bustle.  In  a  little  while 


88  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

another  boat  hove  to,  carrying  with  it  a  swarm 
of  hotel  agents,  money-changers,  guides  and 
railroad  agents.  All  these  persons  yelled  on 
top  of  their  voices,  ran  about  the  deck,  pushed 
aside  one  another  and  went  over  the  ship, 
from  one  cabin  to  another,  in  a  mad  career. 
Lorenz  and  Marys  felt  as  if  they  had  sudden- 
ly been  transferred  into  a  bee-hive  and  knew 
not  where  to  stir. 

Kaszuba  advised  the  old  peasant  to  have  his 
money  exchanged  for  American  coin:  He 
would  see  that  no  one  took  advantage.  So 
he  did  it.  For  what  he  possessed  Lorenz  re- 
ceived forty-seven  dollars  in  silver.  By  this 
time  the  steamer  had,  however,  approached 
quite  close  to  the  city,  and  both  houses  and 
men  became  plainly  visible  on  shore.  A  num- 
ber of  larger  and  smaller  vessels  passed  the 
ship,  which  finally  touched  its  wharf  and 
glided  into  its  narrow  dock. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  89 

The  voyage  was  ended. 

Men,  women  and  children  went  down  the 
gang-board,  like  bees  crowding  out  of  a  hive. 
Over  the  narrow  bridge  which  connected  the 
ship  with  the  dock,  came  down  the  motley 
swarm  of  passengers.  First  those  from  the 
first  cabin,  then  those  from  the  second,  and  at 
last  came  the  steerage  passengers  with  their 
bundles.  Lorenz  and  Marys,  having  been 
pushed  hither  and  thither  for  a  while,  finally 
succeeded  in  finding  the  sailor,  Kaszuba.  He 
pressed  the  old  man's  hand  warmly,  and 
said: 

"Brother,  I  wish  you  success,  and  the  girl 
there  too.  God  help  and  guide  you." 

"May  God  reward  you,"  said  both,  but 
there  was  no  time  for  a  prolonged  leave-tak- 
ing. People  were  yet  crowding  down  over  the 
gangway,  and  soon  the  custom  house  officials 
claimed  their  entire  attention. 


90  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

An  officer  with  a  shining  star  on  his  coat 
directed  the  movements  of  our  friends;  their 
bundles  were  examined,  an  "all  right"  was 
pronounced,  and  they  were  directed  toward 
the  gate.  Passing  through  this,  they  found 
themselves  in  a  street. 

"Father,  dear,  what  are  we  now  to  do?" 
inquired  Marys. 

"We  must  wait.  The  German  said  that  as 
soon  as  we  landed  the  government  commis- 
sioners would  come  and  inquire  for  us." 

So  they  kept  standing  against  a  wall  close 
to  the  gate,  waiting  for  the  commissioners  to 
put  in  an  appearance,  surrounded  by  the 
bustle  and  noise  of  the  immense  city.  Never 
had  they  seen  anything  like  this.  Straight  and 
endless  the  street  extended  before  them,  and 
everywhere  surged  a  crowd  of  busy  persons. 
Carriages,  vans  and  'street  cars  chased  up  and 
down  in  endless  course.  Everywhere  sounded 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  91 

the  singular  strains  of  a  foreign  language; 
workmen,  salesmen  and  by-passers  cried  out 
in  different  tones.  Once  in  a  while  a  person 
with  curly  hair  and  a  face  as  black  as  pitch 
strolled  past.  At  the  sight  of  them  the  peas- 
ant and  his  child  would  cross  themselves  de- 
voutly. How  singular  appeared  to  them  this 
noisy  city,  where  locomotives  whistled,  wag- 
ons rattled  and  people  yelled  all  at  once.  All 
walked  so  fast,  and  seemed  to  chase  one  an- 
other, or  to  be  chased  by  some  one; — and 
then,  what  a  diversity  of  men!  What  singu- 
lar faces, — some  black,  some  olive,  some  red. 
Around  them,  too,  the  bustle  was  general. 
Vessels  were  loaded  and  unloaded;  wagons 
drove  up,  while  others  departed;  trundle-cars 
rolled  up  and  down.  Everywhere  a  surge  and 
a  noise,  as  if  everything,  and  everyone,  aimed 
to  turn  upside  down,  or  stand  on  the  head. 
One  hour  passed  after  another,  and  they 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

were  yet  standing  there,  waiting  for  the  com- 
missioners. 

A  queer  sight  it  \vas,  these  two  Polish  emi- 
grants, in  their  national  garb,  amidst  these 
surroundings.  Yet  the  by-passers  scarcely 
looked  at  them,  but  seemed  to  view  their 
presence  as  well  as  their  appearance  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact. 

Another  hour  passed;  the  sky  was  cloudy; 
it  rained  at  intervals,  then  snowed,  and  across 
the  water  blew  a  cool,  moist,  penetrating 
breeze. 

But  they  remained  where  they  were,  waiting 
for  the  commissioners.  The  peasant  is  natur- 
ally of  a  patient  disposition,  yet  as  time  passed 
the  hearts  of  the  two  grew  heavy. 

On  the  ship  they  had  been  lonely;  here, 
among  strangers,  their  loneliness  was  intensi- 
fied by  fear.  Like  children  who  have  lost 
their  way,  they  prayed  that  God  would  guide 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  93 

them  happily  across  the  vast  sea.  They  were 
certain  that  if  they  had  once  reached  the  other 
shore,  fate  would  favor  their  every  step.  Now 
they  had  reached  their  destination,  this  im- 
mense city;  they  once  more  felt  the  firm  soil 
beneath  them;  but  amidst  this  noisy  crowd  of 
entire  strangers  they  were  more  lonely  and 
more  helpless  than  on  the  steamer. 

Yet  the  commissioners  had  not  arrived. 
What  should  they  do  if  they  did  not  come  at 
all, — if  the  German  had  deceived  them? 

Their  poor  peasants'  hearts  shuddered  at 
this  thought.  What  could  they  do; — would 
they  not  die  miserably? 

"Are  you  cold,  Marys?"  asked  Lorenz. 

"Very  cold,  father,"  answered  the  girl. 

Their  clothes  were  drained  by  the  moisture, 
and  the  icy  wind  penetrated  into  their  very 
nerve  and  bone. 

Another  hour  had  passed;  twilight  began  to 


94  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

set  in:  there  was  less  life  and  stir  displayed 
about  the  harbor.  Lanterns  were  lighted. 
Soon  the  whole  city  lay  bathed  in  a  sea  of 
light.  The  workmen  from  the  docks  came  out 
on  the  street  and  walked  toward  the  city, 
one  by  one  or  in  groups,  some  humming  a 
popular  song.  By  degrees  everything  as- 
sumed a  quiet,  subdued  tone;  the  docks  were 
closed,  and  so  was  the  custom  house. 

But  they  held  their  place  yet,  waiting  for 
the  government  commissioners. 

At  length  night  came.  A  hush  fell  over 
everything  far  and  near.  Only  from  time  to 
time  the  smokestack  of  the  steamers  would 
sputter  forth  a  fiery  spark,  which  flew  about, 
its  glare  becoming  gradually  fainter  and 
fainter,  until  it  extinguished.  Or  a  single  wave 
would  fling  itself  against  one  of  the  quays. 
Here  and  there  sounded  a  tune  sung  by  some 
sailor  who  returned  to  his  ship  in  a  pleasant 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  95 

frame  of  mind.  The  street  lanterns  grew  dim 
in  the  dark,  dense  fog1: — but  the  two  remained 
where  they  were,  waiting  patiently. 

But  even  if  they  had  not  determined  to 
wait,  where  should  they  go;  to  which  direction 
should  they  turn,  and  where  should  they  lay 
their  weary  heads  to  rest?  The  cold  grew 
more  and  more  intense,  and  they  were  hungry. 
Even  if  they  had  some  shelter,  however,  theit 
clothes  were  soaked  through. 
.  Ah,  the  commissioners  have  not  arrived, 
nor  will  they  arrive,  for  they  do  not  exist.  The 
German  was  an  agent  for  one  of  the  steamship 
companies  and  counted  his  percentage  by 
heads.  He  had  no  further  interest  in  their 
welfare. 

Lorenz  felt  the  earth  totter  beneath  his 
feet;  it  seemed  as  if  a  fearful  burden  weighed 
upon  him,  pressing  him  down; — as  if  God's 
judgment  hung  over  his  head.  He  waited 


96  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

and  listened,  as  only  peasants  can  wait  and  lis- 
ten.   The  voice  of  the  girl,  whose  teeth  were 
chattering  with  cold,  finally  roused  him  from 
his  stupor. 
"Father!" 

"Quiet.     Nobody  pities  us." 
"Father,  let  us  return  to  Lipince!" 
"Can  we  go  through  the  water,  girl?" 
"Lord,  our  heavenly  Father!"  whispered  the 
girl. 

"My  unfortunate  child!"  cried  he.  "If  God 
would  at  least  take  pity  on  you." 

But  she  listened  no  more  to  him.  She 
leaned  her  head  against  the  wall  and  closed 
her  eyes.  A  heavy  sleep,  interrupted  by  spells 
of  fever,  overpowered  her,  and  amidst  the 
desolate  surroundings  she  dreamed  of  her  old 
home  and  heard  the  voice  of  the  one  she 
loved. 

Dawn  came,  and  looked  through -a  gray  fog 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  97 

down  upon  the  two  figures  which  lay  close  to 
the  wall,  pale,  their  limbs  drawn  together  by 
the  cold,  in  a  death-like  stupor.  Yet  their 
cup  of  suffering  was  not  yet  full. 


98  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Passing  through  the  city  of  New  York 
from  Broadway  to  Chatham  Square  one  is 
obliged  to  walk  through  a  number  of  narrow 
streets,  which  form  a  sad-looking,  poverty- 
stricken  quarter  of  the  city.  The  streets  seem 
to  grow  narrower  and  narrower.  The  houses, 
which  may  yet  belong  to  those  originally 
built  by  the  Dutch  colonists,  are  badly  broken 
and  half  collapsed,  with  damaged  roofs  and 
marred  walls.  The  windows  in  the  first  stories 
are  scarcely  above  the  paving.  Instead  of  the 
straight-lined  thoroughfares,  which  otherwise 
are  a  constant  feature  of  every  American  city, 
everything  here  is  curved  and  angular,  and 
the  imperfect  roofs  almost  appear  ready  to  fall 
down  over  one  another. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  99 

The  low  level  on  which  this  part  of  the  city 
it  situated  is  responsible  for  the  failure  of  the 
pools  to  dry,  and  the  densely  crowded  struc- 
tures seem  to  lie  in  the  midst  of  a  pond  which 
never  dries  out,  but  in  the  muddy  mirror  of 
which  the  dilapidated  houses  look  down  upon 
their  own  ruin.  These  pools,  as  well  as  the 
streets  in  general,  are  filled  with  any  kind  of 
refuse,  which  heightens  the  impression  of 
abuse  and  misery  everywhere  prevailing. 

In  this  part  of  the  city  are  to  be  found  cer- 
tain institutions  called  "boarding  houses," 
which  offer  all  kinds  of  accommodations  for 
a  consideration  of  two  dollars  per  week.  Here 
we  find  the  drinking  houses — barrooms — 
where  the  whalers  hire  their  crews  of  bandits 
for  their  ships.  Fraudulent  agents  from  Bra- 
zil, Venezuela  and  Ecuador  seek  these  places 
to  catch  hold  of  colonists  that  afterward  fall 
victims  to  deadly  fevers  in  strange  countries; 


100  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

here  may  be  found  the  cheap  restaurants, 
which  feed  people  on  salt  meat,  half-spoiled 
fish.  Here  is  an  abundance  of  Chinese  laun- 
dries, gambling  dens,  sailors'  "homes," — and, 
finally,  robbers'  dens  and  meeting  places,  re- 
sorts of  vice,  misery,  and  where  hunger  is  as 
frequent  as  tears  are  scarce. 

Yet  this  part  of  the  city  teems  with  life,  for 
the  large  numbers  of  emigrants  who  cannot 
even  afford  the  commodities  of  the  resorts 
always  surrounding  the  landing  places,  and 
whom  employment  agencies  neither  can  nor 
will  assist, — these  are  conspicuous  here;  here 
they  assemble,  find  shelter,  live  and  die.  It 
may  be  truly  said  that  if  the  emigrants  repre- 
sent the  refuse  of  the  nations,  the  refuse  of  the 
emigrants  may  be  found  in  this  quarter  of  the 
city  of  New  York.  These  persons  idle  away 
their  time  partly  because  they  find  no  occupa- 
tion, partly  for  the  reason  that  they  have  no 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  101 

desire  of  work.  In  the  dead  of  the  night  cries 
of  help  and  hoarse  yells  of  rage  are  often  heard 
about  these  places,  with  songs  from  drunken 
Irishmen  and  yells  from  colored  people,  who 
knock  one  another  over  the  head.  At  break 
of  day  one  may  see  crowds  upon  crowds  of 
vagabonds,  in  ragged  clothes,  pipe  in  mouth, 
watching  with  interest  and  satisfaction  a  fight 
between  two  of  their  like,  setting  bets  on  each 
smashed  eye.  White  and  black  children,  in- 
stead of  being  sent  away  to  school,  wade 
through  the  dirt  all  day  and  look  among  the 
litter  for  scraps  of  vegetables,  oranges  and 
bananas.  Irish  women  who  venture  outside 
stretch  out  their  hands  when  by  chance  a  man 
in  decent  clothes  happens  to  pass  along  these 
streets. 

In  such  a  place  of  human  misery  we  again 
meet  our  friends  Lorenz  and  Marys.  Their 
hopes  of  coming  into  possession  of  landed 


102  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

property  had  passed  like  a  dream,  and  the 
terrible  reality  discloses  them  to  us  in  a  nar- 
row room,  with  sunken  walls  and  windows  de- 
void of  panes.  Dirt  and  decay  stare  out  of 
the  moist  walls,  the  entire  furnishment  of 
which  consists  in  a  cracked,  rusty  stove,  a 
chair  with  three  legs  and  a  bundle  of  straw 
heaped  up  in  a  corner.  This  was  all.  Old  Lor- 
enz  Toporek  kneels  down  by  the  stove  and 
searches  in  vain  underneath  and  behind  it  for 
some  eatable  thing — a  potato  or  the  like.  He 
has  been  searching  the  room  for  two  days  with 
the  same  result.  Marys  is  sitting  on  the 
straw,  both  hands  folded  over  her  knees,  look- 
ing hopelessly  at  the  floor.  The  girl  is  sick, 
pale  and  thin.  Her  cheeks,  formerly  red  and 
full,  are  now  gray  and  emaciated;  the  whole 
countenance,  as  it  were,  had  grown  smaller. 
Her  large,  blue  eyes  had  in  them  a  look  of 
preoccupation.  How  plainly  was  reflected  in 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  103 

this  face  the  traces  of  insufficient  nourishment, 
the  moist  dwelling,  their  whole  deplorable 
condition.  They  ate  nothing  but  potatoes, 
but  even  this  food  had  been  wanting  for  two 
days,  so  they  scarcely  knew  what  to  do  in  or- 
der to  uphold  their  lives.  For  over  three 
months  had  they  been  dwelling  in  this  miser- 
able  place;  now  their  small  store  of  money 
was  gone.  Lorenz  had  tried  to  find  work,  but 
no  one  was  able  to  comprehend  the  meaning 
of  his  words.  He  tried  to  obtain  a  place  as 
porter  in  the  docks,  but  in  the  first  place  he 
had  no  wheelbarrow,  and  then  the  Irish 
"bosses"  would  strike  him  in  his  face.  He 
went  to  dig  in  the  docks,  and  once  more  the 
overseers  struck  him.  What  importance  could 
otherwise  be  attached  to  a  \vorkman  that  did 
not  even  comprehend  what  was  said  to  him? 
Wherever  he  reached  out  his  hand,  wherever 
he  turned,  he  was  met  by  ridicule,  abused  and 


104  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

beaten.  Thus  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  do 
anything,  to  embrace  such  opportunities  as 
there  might  be.  Through  sorrow  and  shame 
his  hair  became  gray;  there  was  no  hope;  his 
means  were  exhausted,  and  hunger  stared 
them  in  the  face. 

In  his  native  country  he  would  have  picked 
up  a  living,  even  if  everything  were  lost,  if 
sickness  had  exhausted  his  means,  or  he  had 
been  turned  out  of  his  own  house.  He  could 
have  stationed  himself,  as  others  had  done,  a 
stick  in  hand,  by  the  crucifix  at  the 
public  road  or  on  the  church  steps, 
and  prayed:  "Heavenly  Father,  have  mer- 
cy on  my  bloody  tears."  The  magnate, 
passing  by  the  road,  would  always  open 
his  hand,  and  his  tender  little  wife 
would  place  her  gift  in  the  pink  hand  of  her 
little  son,  who  fixed  his  large,  blue  eyes  on  the 
beggar  and  gladly  handed  him  all.  Nor  did 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  105 

the  farmer  withhold  his  bread,  and  his  wife 
would  rather  give  a  bacon-rind  to  one  in  need, 
than  throw  it  away.  Yes,  in  his  native  land  he 
might  have  lived  after  the  fashion  of  the 
birds  that  neither  sow  nor  reap.  And  again, 
when  he  stood  under  the  cross  in  the  public 
road,  Christ  would  guard  him,  he  would  re- 
main beneath  the  sun  of  his  old  home  and 
walk  over  the  soil  he  knew  best  of  all;  surely, 
amidst  these  quiet,  reposeful  surroundings, 
God  would  hear  his  prayers. 

Here,  however,  in  this  large  city,  there  was 
a  roaring  in  the  air,  like  that  of  a  powerful 
machinery.  Everybody  pushed  on,  without 
regard  of  the  welfare  of  his  brethren.  One 
would  grow  faint  at  all  this;  one's  arms  would 
lose  all  their  strength.  The  eyes  could  receive 
no  clear  impression  of  what  was  going  on; 
one  thought  dispelled  another.  Everything 
presented  itself  in  a  strange,  repulsive,  foreign 


106  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

and  vain  light.  It  seemed  to  Lorenz  that 
everyone  that  was  drawn  into  this  bewilder- 
ing tumult  must  surrender  and  be  crushed. 

Oh,  what  a  difference  between  here  and 
there.  In  quiet  Lipince  Lorenz  had  been  a 
farmer,  a  possessor  of  landed  property;  he 
had  his  little  circle  of  acquaintances  and 
friends,  enjoyed  the  respect  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens, was  one  of  the  assessors  to  the  court, 
and  had  had  enough  to  eat  from  day  to  day. 
Every  Sunday  he  stepped  out  before  the  altar 
with  his  lighted  candle; — here  he  was  the 
least  of  all,  less  respected  than  a  dog  which 
runs  into  a  stranger's  yard,  obedient,  fearful, 
shaking  with  terror,  half-starved.  During  the 
first  days  of  their  affliction  remembrance  often 
whispered  to  him:  "You  were  happier  in  Li- 
pince!" And  conscience  cried  into  his  ear: 
"Lorenz,  why  did  you  leave  your  old  home?" 
— Why?  Because  God  had  forsaken  him. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  107 

Still,  he  must  carry  his  cross  and  wait  to  see 
the  end  of  his  sufferings,  realizing  that  every 
day  that  passed  brought  new  suffering,  and 
that  each  new  sunset  witnessed  the  nameless 
misery  of  himself  and  his  child. 

And  what  would  happen  next?  Should  he 
procure  some  rope,  say  his  prayers  and  hang 
himself  and  his  child?  He  would  not  flinch, 
if  it  were  to  be.  He  was  not  afraid  of  death, — 
but  how  would  the  girl  take  it?  When  pon- 
dering over  these  things  he  felt  that  God  had 
indeed  left  him,  and  that  His  help  and  guid- 
ance could  no  longer  be  counted  upon. 
Amidst  the  dark  surrounding  them  on  all 
sides  there  was  not  a  single  ray  of  light,  and 
he  was  unable  to  name  even  the  greatest  pain 
he  felt. 

His  greatest  sorrow  was,  however,  really 
his  longing  for  home.  It  pained  him  day  and 
night, — pained  him  all  the  more,  because  he 


108  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

could  not  explain  to  himself  what  it  was.  His 
simple  mind  was  unable  to  fathom  this  feel- 
ing. He  longed  for  the  pine  woods,  the 
thatched  huts,  the  green  fields,  the  masters, 
peasants  and  priests, — all  that  was  beneath  the 
roof  of  the  sky  at  home,  to  which  his  heart 
clung  in  love  and  sympathy.  From  these 
things  he  could  emancipate  himself  only  at  the 
risk  of  bleeding  to  death.  The  peasant  rea- 
lized that  something  weighed  heavily  upon 
him;  from  time  to  time  he  was  seized  with 
an  impulse  to  tear  his  hair  out,  to  knock  his 
head  against  the  wall,  to  throw  himself  on 
the  ground  and  yell  like  a  dog  in  his  chain;  to 
cry  out  his  misery  before  someone.  Before 
whom?  He  did  not  know.  He  bent  and  stag- 
gered beneath  this  awful  burden  of  unknown 
suffering.  Around  him  the  gigantic  city 
keeps  on  roaring  and  boiling  with  nervous  ex- 
citement; he  throws  himself  panting  and 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  109 

weeping  before  the  feet  of  Jesus  Christ,  yet 
without  even  once  seeing  His  "cross.  No  voice 
answers  his  call;  the  surrounding  city  remains 
unaffected,  and  there,  on  the  straw,  sits  the 
girl,  her  eyes  stolidly  fixed  on  the  floor,  al- 
ways hungry,  but  ever  patient.  How  queer! 
He  and  she  often  sat  for  days  in  this  room, 
without  stirring,  without  uttering  a  word  to 
each  other.  They  lived  like  two  persons  that 
secretly  hate  each  other.  The  hearts  of  both 
were  heavy,  almost  too  heavy  for  speaking. 
When  one  feels  the  misery  of  want  he  would 
rather  not  speak.  And  again,  what  would  be 
a  fitting  subject  of  discussion?  Better  not 
touch  those  bloody  wounds.  Should  one  cry 
to  the  other  that  they  had  neither  money  nor 
food,  and  that  there  were  no  prospects  in  view 
for  them? 

No  one  would  come  to  assist  them.     There 
were  enough  of  their   countrymen    in    New 


110  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

York,  but  no  one  in  good,  or  even  in  moderate 
circumstances,  lives  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Chatham  Square.  A  week  after  their  arrival 
they  became  acquainted  with  two  Polish  fami- 
lies, one  from  Silesia,  the  other  from  Posen, 
but  these,  too,  were  facing  starvation.  The 
Silesians  had  lost  two  children,  and  the  third 
one  was  sick,  yet  it  slept  every  night  with  its 
parents  under  a  bridge.  They  all  fed  upon 
such  scraps  as  they  might  find  in  the  streets. 
Later  someone  found  them  and  had  them 
brought  to  a  hospital,  where  all  trace  of  them 
was  lost.  The  other  family  was  in  a  much 
worse  situation,  for  the  man  had  fallen  sick. 
Marys  assisted  his  wife  as  long  as  she  could 
endure  the  strain;  now  she,  herself,  needed 
some  care. 

They  might  have  sought  and  obtained  relief 
from  the  Polish  congregation  in  Hoboken. 
The  priest  would  have  appealed  to  their 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  Ill 

countrymen  on  their  behalf,  but  what  did  they 
know,  poor  people,  of  the  Polish  congrega- 
tion, unable,  as  they  were,  to  explain  to  any- 
one what  they  wanted?  Thus  every  cent  they 
paid  out  of  their  scant  fund  was  equivalent  to 
a  fresh  step  down  into  the  abyss  that  threat- 
ened to  swallow  them  up. 

So  he  was  now  crouching  before  the  stove, 
and  she  sat  immovably  on  the  straw.  One 
hour  passed  after  another;  it  grew  darker  and 
darker,  although  it  was  scarcely  past  noon 
time,  but  a  misty  fog  pervaded  the  atmosphere 
among  the  dingy  dwellings.  Although  the  air 
was  quite  warm  outside,  both  shuddered  with 
cold. 

Finally  the  old  man  abandoned  his 
search. 

"Marys,"  said  he,  "I  cannot  endure  this 
longer,  nor  can  you.  I  shall  go  down  to  the 
harbor  and  try  to  find  some  wood.  Then,  at 


112  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

least,  we  shall  not  be  cold.  Perhaps  I  may 
also  find  something  to  eat." 

She  made  no  reply,  so  he  left  the  room.  He 
had  already  succeeded  in  finding  the  way  to 
the  harbor  and  in  hunting  forth  such  old 
scraps  of  timber  and  empty  boxes  as  the  water 
would  carry  up  to  the  shore.  This  was  done 
by  all  that  could  afford  no  coal.  In  picking  up 
these  things  Lorenz  was  often  hurt,  yet  from 
time  to  time  he  succeeded  in  finding  some 
eatable  things,  waste  matter  that  had  been 
thrown  overboard  from  the  ships.  When 
walking  about  in  this  manner,  seeking  what 
he  had  not  lost,  there  were  certain  moments 
when  he  forgot  his  need  as  well  as  the  name- 
less pain  and  longing,  which  otherwise  loomed 
up  behind  everything  else. 

He  reached  the  water's  edge,  and  as  the 
afternoon  had  not  progressed  very  far  there 
were  a  number  of  people  around  the  yards  and 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  113 

landing-  places.  Some  boys  began  calling,  and 
even  threw  stones,  sea  shells  and  the  like  after 
him,  yet  he  remained.  There  were  many 
pieces  of  wood  floating  at  the  water's  edge; 
one  wave  might  wash  them  ashore,  another 
would  suck  them  back,  but  he  picked  up  as 
much  as  he  could  carry. 

A  number  of  green  fragments  were  tossed 
about  by  the  water's  movements.  Lorenz 
wondered  what  they  were,  and  if  they  might 
be  suitable  for  eating.  None  were  so  near 
that  he  could  reach  them,  but  the  boys  fished 
for  them  with  hooks  and  strings  and  pulled 
up  one  after  another.  He  himself  had  no 
string,  so  he  could  do  nothing  but  peer  eag- 
erly in  the  direction  where  they  were.  When 
finally  the  boys  left  the  place,  he  fell  upon  the 
fragments  they  had  left  and  devoured  them 
eagerly,  without  thinking  of  the  girl  who 
waited  for  his  return  in  the  cold,  bare  room. 


114  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

This  time,  however,  fate  rewarded  his  pa- 
tient search.  On  returning  home  he  saw  a 
wagon  heavily  loaded  with  potatoes.  It  was 
evidently  bound  for  the  harbor.  One  of  the 
hind  wheels  had  rolled  down  into  a  hole  and 
could  not  be  lifted  out.  So  Lorenz  seized  ar 
pole  and  helped  the  driver  in  lifting  the  wag- 
on. It  was  very  heavy,  and  the  old  man's 
force  became  strained  almost  beyond  endur- 
ance, but  finally  the  horses  made  a  powerful 
effort,  and  the  wheels  began  to  turn.  On  ac- 
count of  the  height  of  the  load  a  large  number 
of  potatoes  dropped  down  in  the  dirt.  The 
driver,  however,  paid  no  heed  to  this,  but  ut- 
tered a  few  words  in  appreciation  of  the  help 
he  had  received,  whereupon  he  lifted  his  whip 
over  the  horses  and  advised  them  to  "get 
up." 

Lorenz  at  once  fell  upon  the  potatoes.  With 
shaking  hands  did  he  pick  them  up  and  stuff 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  H-r> 

them  into  his  pockets,  until  the  latter  were 
fairly  bursting.  His  heart  at  once  became 
lighter  than  before.  The  bit  of  bread  which  a 
hungry  man  finds  calls  forth  a  world  of  joy. 
Hastening  homeward  the  peasant  said  to  him- 
self: 

"Our  heavenly  Father  be  praised  that  He 
has  mercy  upon  his  unhappy  children.  Here 
is  enough  of  wood,  now  the  girl  will  fry  these 
potatoes,  and  there  will  be  more  than  enough 
for  two.  God  is  merciful.  Now  the  room 
will  be  much  more  pleasant.  Why,  Marys, 
too,  had  nothing  to  eat  since  the  day  before 
yesterday!  Now  she  will  be  glad.  Oh,  God 
is  merciful." 

Thus  speaking  to  himself  he  carried  the 
wood  in  one  arm  and  fumbled  with  his  one 
free  hand  at  the  potatoes  in  his  pockets,  fear- 
ful of  losing  even  a  single  one.  His  feelings 
were  those  of  a  man  who  carries  home  a  great 


110  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

treasure.  Presently  he  raised  his  glance  to- 
ward the  sky,  murmuring: 

"I  almost  thought  I  should  have  to  steal 
them.  Now  they  have  fallen  down  to  me,  as 
it  were,  from  the  sky,  and  I  have  not  been 
forced  to  steal.  Hitherto  we  have  hungered, 
now  we  shall  eat  and  be  satisfied.  God  is 
merciful.  Marys  will  rise  from  the  straw  as 
soon  as  she  hears  that  I  have  secured  these  po- 
tatoes." 

Marys  had  not  moved  from  her  straw  bed 
when  her  father  left  her.  Usually  her  father 
went  out  early  in  the  morning  and  brought 
home  wood,  whereupon  he  lighted  a  fire, 
brought  in  water  and  ate  in  her  company 
whatever  might  happen  to  be  in  the  house. 
Then,  every  day  for  a  long  time  she  had  gone 
out  to  seek  some  work  for  herself.  She  had 
even  succeeded  in  securing  a  place  in  a  board- 
ing house,  where  she  washed  dishes.  But  as 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  117 

the  work  was  new  to  her  and  the  people  could 
make  her  understand  nothing,  they  had  sent 
her  away  in  two  days.  Upon  this  she  sought 
no  further,  and,  consequently,  found  nothing. 
For  many  days  she  did  not  even  leave  her 
room,  being  afraid  to  move  about  the  streets, 
where  drunken  sailors  and  Irishmen  would 
pursue  her.  This  enforced  idleness  added  to 
her  unhappiness. 

The  longing  for  home,  like  rust  in  iron,  ate 
into  her  heart.  She  was  more  unhappy  than 
her  father,  for  added  to  all  her  physical  suffer- 
ing was  a  firm  conviction  of  their  miserable 
fate,  and  to  her  burning  homesickness  clung 
the  thought  of  her  Jasko.  True,  he  had  prom- 
ised that  wherever  she  went  he  would  follow, 
but  the  dismal  presence  could  not  spurn  hope 
sufficiently  to  convince  her  of  his  faithfulness. 

He  was  a  servant  at  the  castle,  and  pos- 
sessed, besides,  a  parental  heritage  by  no 


118  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

means  insignificant.  She,  however,  possessed 
nothing;  no  church  rat  in  Lipince  could  be 
more  hungry  than  she  was. 

Will  he  come,  and — if  he  comes — will  he 
press  her  to  his  heart  and  say  "My  poor,  un- 
happy little  girl?"  Or  will  he  thrust  her  aside 
with  the  slighting  remark  that  she  is,  after  all, 
but  a  beggar?  In  any  case,  what  did  she  pos- 
sess, save  rags.  Even  in  Lipince  they  would 
now,  such  as  they  were,  be  barked  at  by  dogs, 
and  yet — some  powerful  feeling  draws  her 
back  there;  her  soul  might  soar  aloof  with  the 
birds,  across  the  wayless  ocean, — homeward, 
even  if  death  were  all  that  awaited  her  there. 
He,  her  Jasko,  was  there,  and  whether  or  not 
he  thought  of  her,  he  was  dearer  to  her  than 
anyone  else  in  the  wide  world.  Only  with 
him  was  there  joy  and  peace;  among  all  per- 
sons on  earth  he  was  the  only  one  to  whom 
her  whole  heart  belonged. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  119 

While  there  had  yet  been  a  fire  m  the  little 
stove,  and  she  did  not  suffer  with  such  intense 
hunger  as  she  now  felt,  the  flickering  glare 
would  yet  remind  her  of  the  evenings  at  home, 
when  she  sat  among  her  girl  friends,  spinning, 
until  Jasko  thrust  his  head  in  through  the  win- 
dow and  called  to  her:  "Marys,  you  and  I  will 
some  day  go  before  the  priest,  for  I  love  you 
better  than  anyone  else."  Then  she  might 
have  answered,  in  jest:  "Off  with  you,  you 
don't  say  the  truth."  And  her  heart  had  been 
so  light  and  glad, — like  that  night,  when  he 
brought  her  out  of  one  of  the  corners  in  the 
room,  and  they  joined  in  the  dance,  while  she 
hid  her  eyes  and  whispered:  "Let  me  go,  I  am 
so  ashamed!"  When  she  sat  in  the  glare, 
thinking  of  all  this,  the  tears  would  come  roll- 
ing down  her  cheeks.  Now  the  fire  was  out, 
however,  and  even  the  flow  of  her  tears  had 
ceased,  for  she  had  drained  them  all  out.  Of- 


120  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

ten  she  felt  as  if  all  the  tears  had.  flowed  down 
into  her  heart  and  now  weighed  upon  it,  like 
a  heavy  burden.  She  was  terribly  tired  and 
her  resistance  threatened  to  become  ex- 
hausted; in  fact,  she  had  scarcely  power 
enough  to  control  the  course  of  her  thoughts. 
Otherwise  she  bore  her  suffering  quietly  and 
patiently,  and  sat  staring  with  her  big  eyes  at 
nothing  definite,  like  a  bird  that  is  tortured. 

So  she  sat  now,  resting  on  the  straw,  when 
steps  were  heard  outside  and  someone  ap- 
proached the  door.  Thinking  it  might  be  her 
father  she  did  not  even  raise  her  head, — when 
suddenly  a  strange  voice  sounded  in  her  ear: 

"Look  here!" 

It  was  the  owner  of  the  dingy  dwelling,  a 
mulatto  of  unprepossessing  appearance,  with 
torn  clothes  and  both  cheeks  expanded  by 
chewing  tobacco. 

At  the  sight  of  him  the  girl  was  terribly 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  121 

frightened.  She  must  pay  him  the  room-rent 
for  the  coming  week,  and  there  was  not  a  cent 
in  her  possession.  Only  by  complete  sub- 
mission could  she  hope  to  pacify  him.  She 
fell  upon  her  knees  and  made  an  effort  to  kiss 
his  hand. 

"I  have  come  to  get  my  dollar,"  said  he. 

She  understood  only  the  word  "dollar," 
shook  her  head,  said  something,  she  hardly 
knew  what,  and  looked  up  to  him  piteously, 
hoping  to  make  him  comprehend  that  she  had 
neither  money  nor  food,  and  that  he  must 
show  mercy. 

"God  almighty  will  reward  your  grace," 
said  she  in  her  mother  tongue. 

But  his  grace  did  not  feel  the  least  flattered 
by  the  title  she  conferred  upon  him;  he  under- 
stood, however,  that  there  was  no  money  to 
be  had.  He  comprehended  this  so  well,  in 
fact,  that  he  at  once  picked  up  the  bundles 


122  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

that  lay  on  the  floor,  seized  the  girl  by  the 
arm,  forced  her  up  the  steps  and  into  the 
street,  where  he  threw  the  things  before  her 
feet,  turned  around  phlegmatically,  opened 
the  door  of  the  public-room  and  cried: 

"Hello,  Paddy,  here's  a  room  for  you." 

"All  right,"  someone  returned;  "I'll  move 
in  to-night." 

The  mulatto  disappeared  in  the  dark  bar- 
room, leaving  the  girl  alone  in  the  open  street. 
She  humbly  picked  up  her  bundles  and  placed 
them  near  the  house  wall,  to  prevent  them 
from  coming  in  too  close  contact  with 
the  mud  in  the  street,  whereupon  she  sta- 
tioned herself  at  the  doorstep,  waiting  pa- 
tiently. 

The  drunken  Irishmen  who  passed  by  paid 
no  attention  to  her.  In  the  room  was  dark, 
outside,  however,  clear  daylight  shone  upon 
her,  bringing  into  view  her  sickly  looking  face. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  123 

Her  flaxen  hair  had  retained  its  brightness, 
but  the  lips  were  pale  and  the  face  piteously 
thin.  She  looked  like  a  withered  flower. 

Those  passing  by  looked  at  her  with  some 
compassion.  An  old  negro  woman  even 
stopped  and  spoke  to  her,  but  receiving  no  an- 
swer she  proceeded  on  her  way,  disgusted. 

In  the  meantime  Lorenz  was  hastening 
homeward,  spurred  on  by  the  agreeable  feel- 
ing which  a  visible  proof  of  God's  mercy  pro- 
duces in  the  mind  of  the  poverty-stricken.  He 
had  his  potatoes;  he  reflected  how  they  would 
eat  and  be  satisfied;  how  he  would  be  careful 
of  walking  the  same  way  next  day.  Beyond 
this  his  thoughts  did  not  go ;  he  was  too  hun- 
gry to  make  plans  for  the  future.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  house  and  saw  the  girl  standing 
in  front  his  surprise  was  aroused,  and  he 
quickened  his  steps. 

"Why  do  you  stand  here?"  asked  he. 


124  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

"The  owner  threw  me  out,  father,"  an- 
swered Marys. 

"Threw  you  out?" 

The  wood  fell  from  his  shaking  hands. 

This  was  too  much.  Thrown  into  the  street 
at  the  moment  when  he  had  secured  what  they 
needed  to  bite  and  to  burn.  What  could  they 
do  now,  in  the  absence  of  a  place  where  to 
make  fire?  How  could  they  fry  their  pota- 
toes, and  where  would  they  direct  their  steps? 
He  took  off  his  cap  and  threw  it  into  the  mud 
where  the  wood  was  already.  He  turned 
away,  uttered  a  "Holy  Christ,"  looked  hope- 
lessly at  the  girl,  and  repeated  once  more: 

''Threw  you  out?" 

Then  he  stepped  forward,  fell  back,  stepped 
forward  once  more  and  cried  in  a  hoarse  tone: 

"Why  did  you  not  ask  him  to  let  you  stay, 
you  sheep?" 

She  sighed  deeply. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  125 

"I  did  ask  him." 

''Did  you  throw  yourself  before  his  feet?" 

"Yes." 

Once  more  Lorenz  turned  and  turned  back, 
like  a  worm  that  is  trodden  upon.  He  be- 
came dizzy  and  almost  faint. 

"Wish  you  were  dead!"  cried  he. 
^        Full  of  agony  the  girl  looked  up  to  him : 

"How  can  I  help  it,  father?'' 

"Wait  here,  and  don't  stir.  I  am  going  in 
to  ask  him  to  permit  us  at  least  to  fry  these 
potatoes." 

He  went.  In  a  few  moments  there  "was  a 
cry  inside,  followed  by  a  shuffling  of  feet. 
Then  Lorenz  flew  out  of  the  door,  evidently 
thrust  out  by  a  forceful  hand. 

One  moment  he  stood  still,  then  he  turned 
to  Marys  and  said,  briefly: 

"Come!" 

She  bent  down  and  gathered  up  her  things, 


126  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

but  her  force  was  nearly  exhausted,  and  she 
was  scarcely  able  to  lift  the  bundles.  Yet  he 
made  no  effort  to  help  her;  nay,  scarcely  per- 
ceived that  the  burden  was  nearly  too  great 
for  the  girl.  So  they  plodded  on.  The  sight 
of  two  persons  so  miserable  and  forlorn  would 
undoubtedly  have  attracted  the  attention  of 
those  whom  they  passed  on  their  way,  were  it 
not  that  they  were  so  accustomed  to  see  all 
phases  of  misery.  Where  would  they  find 
shelter?  Was  a  higher  degree  of  wretched- 
ness possible? 

The  girl's  breath  grew  more  and  more  la- 
bored; from  time  to  time  she  nearly  would 
lose  her  balance,  and  finally  she  said,  in  a  piti- 
ful tone: 

"Father,  take  these  things,  I  cannot  carry 
them  further." 

Her  voice  roused  him,  as  it  were,  from  a 
dream. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  12? 

"Throw  them  away,  then." 

"We  may  need  them." 

"No,  we  shall  have  no  more  use  for 
them." 

Noticing  that  the  girl  yet  tarried,  he  cried, 
furiously: 

"Throw  them  away,  or  I  kill  you!" 

In  her  fear  she  obeyed  instantly.  The  peas- 
ant repeated  several  times  by  himself: 

"Well,  if  it  must  be,  it  must  be."  Then  he 
said  no  more,  but  there  was  a  desperate  ex- 
pression in  his  eyes. 

Through  the  dingy  lanes  they  finally,  by 
numerous  circuits,  arrived  at  the  harbor  near 
the  water's  edge.  High  bulwarks  dotted  with 
moorings  extended  to  both  sides  along  the 
sea,  and  among  the  boards  and  landings  a 
great  many  persons  moved  around,  engaged 
in  different  ways.  The  girl  hastily  seated  her- 
self on  a  pile  of  boards;  she  was  unable  to 


128  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

make  another  step.     Lorenz,  without  uttering 
a  word,  sat  down  by  her. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
A  busy  life  pervades  the  whole  place.  The 
fog  had  given  way  to  a  friendly,  mild  sunshine, 
which  offered  its  light  and  warmth  to  the  two 
homeless  and  friendless  persons.  A  light, 
soft  breeze  wafted  across  the  water.  There 
was  brightness  and  bustle  all  around;  the  sun- 
light blinded  their  eyes,  and  the  reposeful 
sheet  of  water  lay  in  full  extension  before 
them.  A  motionless  forest  of  ships'  masts  and 
smokestacks  rose  against  the  sky.  In  the 
horizon  one  steamer  rose  after  another,  bound 
for  the  port,  or  leaving  for  other  shores.  Their 
white  sails  bathed  in  the  sunlight,  like  bright 
clouds  which  soared  across  the  deep  blue  of 
the  sky.  Other  vessels  steered  out  into  the 
open  sea  beyond,  setting  the  water  before 
them  in  foam.  They  passed  away  into  the  di- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  129 

rection  where  Lipince  was, — the  place  which 
to  our  both  unhappy  friends  meant  the  same 
as  happiness,  peace  and  abundant  content. 
The  girl  was  firmly  convinced  that  she  and  her 
father  must  have  committed  some  disgraceful, 
sinful  deed,  which  called  down  upon  their 
heads  God's  vengeance.  Why  should  other- 
wise He,  the  All  Graceful,  hide  His  face  from 
both  of  them  and  leave  them  among  strangers, 
in  a  state  of  complete  helplessness?  Did  He 
not  have  the  power  to  make  them  happy?  So 
many  vessels  passed  across  the  sea  in  different 
directions,  not  one  of  them  would  bring  them 
home.  And  once  more  the  girl's  thoughts  re- 
verted to  Lipince  and  to  her  beloved  one.  Did 
he  yet  think  of  her? 

In  any  event,  she  had  not  forgotten  him. 
Only  happiness  makes  people  forgetful;  when 
we  must  bear  misfortune  alone,  our  thoughts 

will  cling  to  the  dear  ones  far  away,  like  ivy 
9 


130  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

clings  to  the  tree.  But  he?  Had  he  not  for- 
gotten his  first  love  and  sought  out  someone 
else?  No  wonder  if  this  was  the  case,  for  it 
would  be  a  shame  to  think  of  a  being  so 
wretched,  and  who  possessed  nothing  at  all  in 
her  own  name; — a  fettered,  poor  little  thing, 
whom  death  alone  could  set  free. 

Sick  as  she  was,  hunger  did  not  pain  her 
much,  but  a  tired  and  weak  feeling  closed  her 
eyelids,  and  her  thin,  pale  face  sank  deeper  and 
deeper.  She  dreamed  of  the  dear  ones  at 
home;  that  she  fell  down  into  a  great,  void 
space;  that  she  sank  into  the  water, — far,  far 
down, — when  suddenly  she  roused  herself,  a 
little  fresher,  and  the  dream  vanished.  Near 
by  was  not  her  beloved  one,  but  her  father, 
and  the  water  of  which  she  had  dreamed 
flowed  rapidly  through  the  New  York  harbor. 
The  mild  air  of  a  spring  day,  drawing  near  its 
close,  wafted  across  earth  and  sky.  A  sacred 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  131 

peace  pervaded  whole  Nature.  Everything 
about  her  was  radiant  with  joy  and  life; — only 
she  and  the  old  man  beside  her  were  unhappy 
and  forgotten  by  the  whole  world.  Now 
the  workmen  prepared  to  return  home; 
they  alone  among  them  all  possessed  no 
home. 

With  increasing  intensity  old  Lorenz  was 
harassed  by  the  pains  of  hunger.  Mute  and 
self-contained  he  remained  by  his  child,  se- 
cretly brooding  over  a  terrible  plan.  His 
want  of  food  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a 
wild  beast;  outwardly  he  remained  quiet  and 
composed,  though  unnaturally  so.  While  the 
shadows  grew  long,  he  remained  immovable, 
did  not  once  speak  to  the  girl,  and  preserved 
the  expression  of  desperate  passivity.  When 
night  set  in,  he  said,  in  a  strange,  unnatural 
tone: 

"Marys,  come  with  me." 


132  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

''Where  shall  we  go,  father?"  asked  she, 
wearily. 

"Let  us  go  and  lie  down  on  that  platform 
near  the  water.  Let  us  try  to  sleep." 

They  went.  On  account  of  the  darkness  it 
was  necessary  to  walk  with  some  caution,  to 
avoid  falling  into  the  water. 

The  American  piers  are  built  in  a  somewhat 
intricate  manner.  They  form  a  sort  of  broad 
gallery,  with  a  broad  platform  covered  with  a 
roof,  at  certain  intervals.  These  platforms 
were  deserted  by  this  time,  as  all  the  workmen 
had  returned  home. 

The  place  was  quite  lonely.  When  they 
had  reached  the  outer  edge,  that  close  to  the 
water,  Lorenz  again  spoke : 

"Here  we  will  lie  down  and  sleep." 

The  girl  dropped  down  upon  the  boards, 
perfectly  exhausted.  She  was  not  disturbed 
by  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes  which  sur- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  133 

rounded  her  immediately,  but  fell  asleep  al- 
most instantly. 

Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  she 
was  roused  by  the  sound  of  her  father's 
voice: 

"Marys,  wake  up!" 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  that  awakened  her  im- 
mediately. 

"What  do  you  want,  father?" 

Through  the  dark  and  quiet  of  the  night 
Lorenz  Toporek's  voice  sounded  ghastly  and 
fearful  in  its  forced  steadiness: 

"My  daughter,  you  shall  not  die  of  hunger. 
You  shall  not  ask  for  your  bread  at  any  one's 
door,  nor  shall  you  sleep  under  the  open  sky. 
We  are  deserted  by  men;  God  has  forsaken 
us;  you  are  suffering  from  want.  So  Death 
shall  receive  you,  and  put  an  end  to  your  suf- 
fering." 

She  was  unable  to  see  him  in  the'  dark, 


134  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

though  her  eyes  had  opened  themselves  wide 
in  horror. 

"I  will  throw  you  in  the  water,  my  poor 
girl,  and  jump  in  myself,  too.  There  is  no  sal- 
vation, no  pity,  for  us.  To-morrow  you  will 
feel  no  hunger;  you  will  be  better  off  than  you 
are  now." 

No,  she  would  not  die.  She  was  but  eigh- 
teen years  old;  she  loved  life  and  was  fright- 
ened at  death,  as  youth  always  is.  Her  soul 
revolted  against  the  thought  that  to-morrow 
she  would  be  a  corpse  and  sink  into  the  dark- 
ness at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  down  among  the 
monsters  in  the  muddy  sea-bed.  For  no  price 
in  the  world !  A  terrible  fright  seized  her,  and 
her  own  father,  who  had  pronounced  her 
death-sentence,  appeared  like  an  evil  spirit. 
In  the  meantime  both  his  hands  rested  on  her 
narrow  shoulders,  and  he  continued,  in  the 
same  manner  as  before: 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  135 

"Even  if  you  call  for  help  no  one  will  hear 
you.  I'll  push  you  down;  it  will  be  over  in 
no  time." 

"I  will  not,  father,  I  will  not,"  cried  the  girl. 
"Have  you  forgotten  that  God  is  above  us! 
Father,  dear,  kind  father,  have  mercy  upon 
me!  What  have  I  done  that  you  should  kill 
me?  I  have  not  complained  over  our  misfor- 
tune. Have  I  not  suffered  patiently  hunger 
and  cold  with  you?  Oh,  father!" 

His  breath  came  faster  and  faster;  his  hands 
held  her  like  in  an  iron  grip.  She  begged  piti- 
fully for  her  life. 

"Have  mercy,  mercy,  mercy!  Am  I  not 
your  own  child,  your  poor,  sick  child?  Be- 
sides, I  cannot  live  very  long.  I  am  afraid  to 
die." 

So  she  clung  to  him  in  agony,  grasped  his 
clothes  and  pressed  her  lips  against  the  hands 
that  meant  to  throw  her  into  the  sea.  But  he 


136  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

minded  nothing.  His  equanimity  had  flashed 
out  in  desperation;  he  began  to  snort  and  to 
grind  his  teeth.  There  was  a  moment's  si- 
lence, a  deep  breath,  and  a  creaking  of  the 
boards  in  the  platform.  The  night  had  be- 
come pitch  dark;  there  was  no  possibility  of 
help,  as  they  had  chosen  a  place  far  away  from 
the  thoroughfares;  where  no  one  save  the 
workmen  would  ordinarily  come. 

"Mercy,  mercy!"  cried  the  girl,  in  a  pene- 
trating tone. 

He  pulled  her  violently  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  pier  and  beat  her  head  in  order  to  subdue 
her  cries.  But  to  these  no  response  came; — 
only  a  dog  was  barking  far  away. 

Marys  felt  that  her  resistance  was  on  the 
point  of  giving  out.  Suddenly  the  ground  dis- 
appeared beneath  her  feet;  but  her  hands 
clung  to  her  father's  body,  though  she  had 
scarcely  any  power  left.  Her  cries  of  help  be- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  137 

came  more  and  more  faint;  then  he  realized 
that  she  hung  directly  over  the  water. 

She  had  fallen  from  the  platform,  but 
grasped  a  board  and  thus  escaped  death — for 
the  present. 

The  peasant  bent  down  and  tried  to  push 
her  hands  off  the  board. 

A  world  of  thoughts  flashed  through  the 
girl's  head.  Lipince,  the  public  well,  the 
ship,  the  storm,  their  wretchedness  in  New 
York.  And  she  sees — she  sees  a  gigantic 
ship,  towering  high  above  the  pier,  where  a 
crowd  of  people  are  standing.  Two  arms  are 
stretched  out  toward  her.  Heavenly  father, 
there  stands  her  Jasko,  reaching  for  her,  and 
there — there,  above  the  ship, — the  likeness  of 
the  holy  Virgin,  in  gleaming  splendor.  She 
pushes  every  one  aside:  "My  Jasko,  my  Jas- 
ko!" Another  moment,  and  she  lifts  her  eyes 
toward  the  old  man : 


138  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

"Father,  there  I  see  the  mother  of  Christ, 
the  mother  of  Christ!" 

The  next  second  the  same  hands  that  would 
precipitate  the  girl  into  the  sea  pulled  her  up 
with  superhuman  power.  Then  she  stood 
once  more  on  the  firm  soil.  Two  arms  folded 
her  into  their  embrace, — the  arms  of  her  fath- 
er, not  of  her  murderer.  Her  head  rested  up- 
on his  breast. 

Waking  from  her  swoon  Marys  found  her- 
self resting  quietly  near  her  father.  In  spite 
of  the  dark  she  realized  that  his  body  was 
shaking,  and  that  he  sobbed  from  the  bottom 
of  his  heart. 

"Marys,"  said  he,  in  a  broken  tone,  "forgive 
me,  my  child." 

The  girl  felt  for  his  hand,  pressed  a  kiss 
against  it  and  whispered: 

"May  God  forgive  you,  as  I  fcrgive 
you." 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  139 

A  faint  shimmer  which  rose  in  the  east  soon 
developed  into  a  strong  light.  The  moon 
rose,  and  in  the  light  haze  surrounding  her 
Marys  fancied  she  saw  a  number  of  little  angel 
figures,  which  descended  about  her,  circled 
about  her. 

And  she  became  gradually  quiet, — quiet 
enough  for  a  sounder  sleep  than  she  had  en- 
joyed for  a  long  time. 

Night  passed.  Dawn  rose  and  shed  its  light 
over  the  water,  the  ships  and  their  masts.  Out 
of  their  faint  outlines  things  evolved  them- 
selves more  and  more  plainly. 

With  a  prayer  in  his  heart  Lorenz  bent  over 
his  child,  fearful  that  the  girl  might  have 
drawn  her  last  breath.  Her  slim  body  lay 
there,  without  the  slightest  movement;  there 
was  a  bluish  shadow  over  her  wax-like  face; 
the  eyes  were  closed.  Again  and  again  the 
old  man  tried  to  rouse  her,  finally  he  held  his 


140  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

hand  to  her  mouth  and  felt  that  she  was  still 
breathing. 

Her  heart  beat  still,  though  weakly.  He 
feared  that  she  might  be  near  dying 

If  she  did  not  wake  when  the  sun  rose,  he 
thought,  she  must  surely  die. 

A  flock  of  gulls  began  to  circle  about  them; 
one  even  flew  down  near  their  resting  place. 
A  light  breeze  sprung  up  from  the  west, 
scattered  the  morning  fog  and  carried  clown 
to  them  a  pleasant  stream  of  warm,  soft 
air. 

The  sun  rose.  Her  first  rays  struck  the 
highest  points,  the  roof  of  the  platform ;  then 
lowered  themselves  and  spun  a  golden  halo 
around  the  young  face,  pale  as  death,  of  the 
girl.  They  kissed  her  forehead  and  wound 
themselves  around  her.  Her  golden  hair,  un- 
tidy and  dishevelled  with  moisture  and  with 
the  nightly  struggles,  lay  around  her  head  like 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  141 

a  frame,  and  imparted  to  her  a  trait  of  some- 
thing exquisitely  innocent  and  angelic. 

A  beautiful  spring  day  rose  above  and 
around  them.  The  sunshine  grew  warmer 
and  warmer;  the  wind  blew  softly  over  the 
girl's  outstretched  form  on  the  planks. 

Lorenz  took  off  his  coat  and  covered  her 
^  with  it,  hoping  that  her  life  might  yet  be 

^ 

spared. 

Gradually  a  faint  color  mounted  to  her 
cheeks,  and  finally  she  opened  her  eyes. 

The  old  man  fell  upon  his  knees,  lifted  his 
eyes  toward  the  sky  above,  and  a  stream  of 
tears  rolled  down  over  his  cheeks.  He  now 
realized  how  dear  she  really  was  to  him;  the 
soul  of  his  soul,  a  sanctified  trust,  above  every- 
thing else  in  the  world. 

She  awoke,  looking  much  fresher  and 
healthier  than  the  day  before.  The  pure  air 
which  wafted  across  the  harbor  was  infinitely 


H2  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

healthier  than  the  poisoned  atmosphere  of  the 
narrow  room  to  which  she  had  been  so  long 
confined.  She  awoke  to  life's  reality,  for 
scarcely  had  she  opened  her  eyes  when  the 
appeal  burst  from  her  lips: 

"Father,  I  am  so  hungry." 

"Come,  my  daughter,"  said  he,  "and  let  us 
walk  along  the  water's  edge.  Perhaps  we 
may  find  something  that  will  satisfy  our  hun- 
ger." 

She  arose  without  much  difficulty,  and  they 
went.  This  day  seemed  destined  to  form  an 
exception  to  all  others,  for  they  had  walked 
but  a  few  steps  when  Lorenz  came  across  a 
bundle  hidden  somewhere  in  the  structure  of 
the  pier.  It  contained  bread,  smoked  meat 
and  several  boiled  corn  ears. 

This  discovery  was  easily  explained  by  the 
fact  that  a  workman  had  left  part  of  his  lunch 
here,  for  the  day  following.  This  is  custom- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  143 

ary  here;  but  Lorenz  and  Marys  viewed  the 
matter  still  more  simply.  Who  had  placed 
this  food  directly  where  they  would  find  it? 
They  could  but  think  of  Him  who  considers 
the  birds  in  the  air  and  the  flowers  in  the  field. 

God,  the  Almighty! 

So,  saying  their  prayers,  they  sat  down  and 
ate  what  had  been  given  to  them  by  so  won- 
derful means,  whereupon  they  walked  over  in 
the  direction  of  the  larger  docks. 

Both  were  strengthened  and  in  better 
mood.  Having  reached  the  Custom  House 
Building  they  turned  down  Broadway.  As 
they  were  yet  somewhat  weak,  it  took  them 
several  hours  to  walk  this  way.  They  plod- 
ed  on,  hardly  realizing  where  they  went,  and 
with  no  definite  end  in  view;  but  Marys  felt 
that  they  must  at  any  cost  walk  up  the  city. 
Numerous  wagons,  heavily  loaded,  passed 
them,  wending  their  way  toward  the  harbor. 


1-44  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

In  Water  Street  an  intense  life  and  stir  was 
going  on.  People  rushed  out  of  the  houses, 
hastening  on,  pursuing  their  business.  At  a 
certain  door  stood  a  tall,  elderly  gentleman, 
with  gray  hair  and  beard,  in  the  company  of 
a  young  fellow.  He  looked  at  the  peasants 
in  their  national  costumes,  and  a  trait  of  sur- 
prise and  wonder  passed  over  his  face.  Scrut- 
inizing their  appearance,  he  allowed  a  smile  to 
pass  over  his  face. 

That  in  the  great  city  of  New  York  there 
should  be  a  single  human  being  who  smiled 
kindly  at  them,  was  indeed  a  wonder,  for 
which  they  were  not  prepared. 

But  the  old  gentleman  stepped  up  to  them 
and  said,  in  pure  Polish: 

"Where  did  you  people  come  from?" 

They  came  to  a  dead  stop  then  and  there. 
From  the  peasant's  face  every  drop  of  blood 
disappeared;  he  staggered,  and  refused  for  a 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  145 

moment  to  trust  his  own  eyes  and  ears.  But 
the  girl  quickly  regained  her  equanimity. 
Dropping  a  courtesy  before  the  old  gentle- 
man she  said: 

"From  the  Province  of  Posen,  sir,  from 
Posen." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"We  are  on  the  point  of  being  starved.  We 
suffer  from  want  of  bread  and  all  other  neces- 
sities." 

She  could  say  no  more.  Lorenz,  however, 
fell  upon  his  knees  before  the  stranger, 
grasped  the  seam  of  his  coat  and  kissed  it  as 
fervently  as  if  he  had  taken  possession  of  a 
portion  of  heaven  itself. 

Here  was  a  man,  one  of  their  own  race;  he 
would  not  let  them  die  from  hunger,  or  scorn 
their  hopes,  but  help  them  on  their  way. 

The  young  man  who  stood  by  opened  his 

eyes  wide.     People  stopped  and  looked  at  the 
10 


H6  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

strange  scene,  where  one  man  kneeled  before 
another,  kissing  the  hem  of  his  garments.  An 
unheard-of  scene  in  America. 

Their  curiosity  seemed  to  bore  the  old  gen- 
tleman, as  he  addressed  them:  "Never  mind 
this,  gentlemen.  Better  go  about  your  busi- 
ness." Whereupon  he  turned  to  Lorenz  and 
his  daughter. 

"We  cannot  remain  standing  in  the  street," 
said  he.  "Come  with  me." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  restaurant  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, ordered  for  himself  and  his  followers 
a  separate  room  and  conducted  them  in.  The 
young  man  followed. 

Once  more  they  wanted  to  throw  them- 
selves before  his  feet,  but  he  motioned  them  to 
desist,  and  said,  a  trifle  vexed: 

"You  had  better  not  do  that.  Are  we  not 
countrymen,  children  of  the  same  soil?" 

Evidently  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  had  drifted 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  147 

into  his  eyes,  for  he  wiped  them  stealthily  and 
said: 

"Are  you  hungry?" 

"We  have  had  no  food  for  two  days,  until 
this  morning  we  found  a  few  things  in  the  har- 
bor." 

"William,"  said  he  to  the  young  man,  "let 
the  people  bring  us  something  to  eat." 

Then  he  continued  his  examination: 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"Nowhere,  your  grace." 

"Where  did  you  sleep  last  night?" 

"On  one  of  the  platforms  down  by  the  sea." 

"Were  you  thrown  out  of  your  house?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  you  no  property  except  what  you 
carry  with  you?" 

"We  have  nothing  else." 

"Have  you  no  money?" 

"No." 


148  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

''What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"We  do  not  know." 

The  old  gentleman  spoke  in  a  rapid  and, 
seemingly,  vexed  tone.  Suddenly  he  turned 
to  Marys,  asking: 

"How  old  are  you,  child?" 

"By  Mary's  Ascension  I  shall  be  eighteen." 

"You  have  suffered  enough  by  this  time, 
have  you  not?" 

Instead  of  answering,  she  humbly  fell  before 
the  feet  of  her  deliverer. 

Once  more  the  cigar  smoke  seemed  to  af- 
fect his  eyes,  but  in  this  movement  the  vic- 
tuals, roast  meat,  potatoes,  a  mug  of  beer  and 
other  things,  were  brought  in.  He  told  them 
to  sit  down  and  eat,  but  they  answered  that  in 
his  presence  they  dared  not  do  it;  whereat  he 
became  angry  and  called  them  fools.  But  in 
spite  of  his  impulsive  manner  they  considered 
him  an  angel  sent  from  heaven. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  149 

Their  eating  appeared  to  afford  him  gen- 
nine  pleasure.  When  they  had  finished,  he 
bid  them  relate  under  what  circumstances  they 
had  emigrated,  and  what  had  befallen  them 
since  their  arrival.  Old  Lorenz  now  gave  a 
detailed  account  of  their  experience.  He  told 
all,  not  even  omitting  his  own  fault, — as  if  he 
was  confessed.  The  stranger  became  angry 
and  scolded,  and  when  Lorenz  arrived  at 
the  point  where  he  made  an  attempt  to 
take  his  daughter's  life,  the  old  gentleman 
cried : 

"Ah,  I  could  knock  you  down!" 

Addressing  Marys,  he  said: 

"Come  here,  child." 

As  she  came  up  to  him,  somewhat  embar- 
rassed, he  took  her  head  in  both  his  hands  and 
pressed  a  kiss  against  her  forehead. 

After  a  pause  he  said : 

"You  have  gone  through  a  great  deal  of  suf- 


150  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

fering.  But  the  country  is  good,  if  one  only 
knows  how  to  help  himself." 

Lorenz  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  This 
worthy  and  good  man  called  America  a  good 
country. 

"Well,  my  old  friend,"  said  he,  "so  it  is." 
And  he  smiled  at  the  peasant's  expression  of 
wonder.  "A  good  country.  When  I  came 
here,  I  had  nothing;  now  my  income  is  even 
abundant.  You  farmers  should  remain  on 
your  land,  however,  and  not  roam  about  the 
world.  If  you  leave  your  old  place,  what  will 
become  of  you? 

"There  are  no  prospects  for  you  here.  It 
may  be  an  easy  matter  to  come  here,  but  the 
return  is  more  difficult." 

For  a  while  he  remained  silent,  then,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  he  continued:' 

"Forty  years  ago  I  arrived  here,  so  one  is 
apt  to  forget  his  native  place.  But  sometimes 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  151 

we  arc  seized  by  a  great  longing.  William 
must  go  over  and  see  the  land  where  his  fath- 
er's cradle  rocked. 

"William  is  my  son,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
the  young  man. 

"You  will  bring  back  a  handful  of  soil  from 
home  and  place  it  in  my  grave,  William?" 

"Yes,  father,"  answered  he,  in  the  English 
tongue. 

"You  will  place  it  right  on  my  heart!" 

"Oh  yes,  father!" 

The  old  gentleman  was  moved,  but  checked 
his  feelings  and  continued: 

"The  boy  comprehends  the  Polish  language 
quite  well,  yet  he  prefers  to  speak  English. 
Yes,  whoever  finds  himself  at  home  here,  is 
lost  to  the  old  place,  and  so  it  must  be.  Wil- 
liam, go  up  to  your  sister's  house,  and  tell  her 
we  shall  have  some  guests  with  us." 

William  hastened  out.  His  father  remained 


152  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

for  a  while  mute  and  seemed  to  ponder  over 
some  problem.  Finally  he  said: 

"Even  if  one  might  send  you  home,  it  costs 
a  good  deal,  and  you  would  have  no  property 
to  live  on,  even  if  you  did  return.  All  you  had 
is  sold;  you  would  come  home  as  beggars. 
If  this  girl  is  sent  out  to  earn  her  bread,  hea- 
ven knows  what  may  befall  her.  Now  that 
you  both  are  here,  you  might  as  well  try  to 
find  some  work.  If  you  were  to  live  in  some 
country  colony  the  chances  are  that  the 
girl  will  be  married  before  long.  Then, 
if  the  young  people  come  into  posses- 
sion of  something,  they  may  want  to  return 
home." 

"Did  you  hear  of  our  colonies  in  this  coun- 
try?" said  he  to  Lorenz,  in  an  abrupt  manner. 

"No,  your  grace." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  then,  why  did  you  emi- 
grate to  a  foreign  country?  In  Chicago  there 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  153 

are  more  than  twenty  thousand  persons  like 
you;  in  Milwaukee  as  many;  in  Detroit  an- 
other great  number.  They  work  in  factories; 
but  the  farmer  feels  best  when  working  in  the 
fields  and  stepping  on  his  own  soil.  If  you 
were  to  go  to  Illinois,  it  might  be  difficult  for 
you  to  find  some  suitable  piece  of  land.  A 
New  Posen  has  been  founded  in  Nebraska,  I 
learn;  but  that  is  far  away,  and  so  is  Texas. 
The  railroad  fares  to  these  places  are  high. 
Borowina  would  be  the  best  place;  besides,  I 
can  obtain  for  you  a  pass  to  that  place.  So 
you  would  not  need  to  pay  for  the  journey, 
but  could  use  what  money  I  gave  you  for  buy- 
ing land." 

Once  more  he  relapsed  into  thoughtful- 
ness,  then,  in  an  off-hand  manner  he  con- 
tinued: 

"Listen,  my  old  friend!  In  Arkansas  a  new 
colony  has  been  founded.  The  land  is  good, 


154  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

the  climate  fine,  and  the  land  is  entirely  new. 
There  the  Government  will  give  you  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty  acres  of  land  and  pay  your  rail- 
road fare  besides.  There  are  no  taxes — do 
you  understand  me?  I  shall  give  you  what 
you  need  to  make  a  beginning,  and  procure 
free  passes  for  you  and  your  daughter.  You 
will  proceed  as  far  as  Little  Rock  and  drive  in 
a  wagon  as  far  as  your  destination.  There 
you  will  find  other  colonists,  whom  you  can 
join  in  cultivating  the  soil.  I  shall  furnish 
you  with  letters  of  introduction  also.  I  mean 
to  help  you  all  I  can,  for  we  are  sons  of  one 
country,  we  are  brethren.  I  feel  a  thousand 
times  more  sorry  for  your  child  than  for  your- 
self,— understand?  You  must  thank  God  that 
I  found  you. 

"Listen  to  me,  child/'  said  he  to  Marys. 
''Here  is  my  card.  Take  it,  and  preserve  it 
like  a  great  treasure.  If  you  should  ever  come 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  155 

into  trouble;  if  you  should  ever  find  yourself 
alone  and  defenseless  in  the  world,  seek  me. 
You  are  a  good  girl.  If  I  should  die,  my  son 
will  protect  you.  Do  not  lose  this  card.  Now 
follow  me!" 

On  the  way  he  bought  clothes  for  them  and 
finally  brought  them  to  his  daughter's  house, 
where,  they  were  kindly  received.  Every 
member  of  this  family  seemed  kind  and  good, 
and  \Yilliam  and  Jenny,  his  sister,  received 
them  as  old  friends.  William  treated  the  girl 
as  a  lady,  which  often  caused  her  considerable 
embarrassment.  From  time  to  time,  in  the 
evening,  a  number  of  ladies  paid  their  visits  at 
the  house.  All  were  beautifully  dressed ;  their 
hair  was  arranged  according  to  the  latest 
fashion,  and  they  approached  the  poor  village  - 
child  with  much  kindness,  flocked  about  her, 
wondered  over  her  beauty  and  her  pale  com- 
plexion, and  were  embarrassed,  in  their  turn, 


156  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

when  she  knelt  down  and  wanted  to  kiss  their 
hands.  The  old  gentleman  went  about  the 
groups,  muttering  by  himself,  sometimes  be- 
ing vexed,  talking  a  mixture  of  English  and 
Polish,  discussing  with  Lorenz  the  conditions 
of  their  native  country,  reviewing  old  memor- 
ies. Sometimes  he  withdrew  in  order  to  con- 
ceal from  the  company  his  emotion. 

When  retiring  to  rest  the  first  night,  Marys 
wept  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  These 
people  were  kinder  and  better  than  any  she 
had  met  before.  No  \vonder,  however,  the 
old  gentleman  was  born  in  Posen. 

In  due  time  Lorenz  and  Marys  were  on 
their  way  to  Little  Rock.  In  his  pocket  the 
farmer  carried  a  hundred  dollars,  at  the 
thought  of  which  he  forgot  everything  else. 
Marys  herself  felt  that  God's  hand  was  once 
more  over  their  heads.  She  now  firmly  be- 
lieved that  He  would  help  them  in  days  to 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  157 

come,  as  He  had  helped  them  in  their  troubles 
thus  far.  Probably  He  would  also  bring  to 
America  her  Jasko,  and  unite  them  and  bring 
them  back  to  Lipince! 

On  their  way  they  passed  a  number  of  cities 
and  smaller  towns.  They  looked  quite  differ- 
ent from  New  York.  Here  were  woods  and 
fields  and  small  houses,  shielded  by  green  fol- 
iage. Large  fields  extended  to  all  sides,  and 
they  were  exactly  like  those  of  their  old  home. 
At  the  sight  of  all  this  old  Lorenz  felt  his  heart 
expand,  so  that  he  would  almost  call  out  a 
hearty  greeting  to  the  woods  and  the  fields, 
where  large  and  small  herds  of  cows  and  sheep 
were  grazing.  Men  were  at  work  in  the 
woods.  Onward  the  train  sped,  further  and 
further  out  into  the  wilderness.  Houses  and 
other  habitations  at  length  became  scarce,  and 
finally  nothing  was  seen  except  the  wide,  deso- 
late prairie,  where  the  wind  played  in  the  grass 


158  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

and  shook  the  numberless  wild  flowers.  Here 
and  there  a  scant  crop  of  brush  was  seen,  the 
short  branches  waving  to  and  fro.  High 
above  hung  the  eagle,  scanning  with  his  sharp 
eyes  the  deep  grass.  The  train  listlessly  pur- 
sued its  way,  plunging,  as  it  were,  with  all  its 
might  into  the  distant  far  away,  where  the 
horizon  joined  the  prairie.  Occasionally  there 
were  seen  a  number  of  hares  or  prairie  wolves. 
Far  and  wide  no  house,  no  dwelling,  not  even 
the  most  primitive  village.  Only  the  stations, 
otherwise  the  same  endless,  blooming  desert. 
Lorenz  looked  out  upon  it,  shaking  his  head 
and  wondering  how  people  could  allow  so 
much  land  to  lie  there  unused. 

One  day  and  a  night,  too,  had  passed  in  this 
manner;  but  on  the  following  day  they  ap- 
proached a  forest  of  mighty  trees.  Numerous 
vines  clung  to  the  old  stems,  forming  a  brush 
that  seemed  almost  impenetrable.  Strange 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  151) 

birds  were  occasionally  seen  in  the  green 
masses  of  foliage  overhead.  On  seeing  this 
wilderness,  this  strange,  unknown  country,, 
Lorenz  could  not  forbear  turning  toward 
Marys,  saying: 

"Marys!" 

"What  is  it,  father?" 

"Do  you  see  all  this?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"And  do  you  wonder?" 

"Yes,  I  do  wonder." 

Finally  they  arrived  at  a  river  larger  than 
any  they  had  ever  seen  before,  and  learned 
that  this  was  the  Mississippi.  Late  at  night 
they  arrived  in  Little  Rock. 

From  here  they  were  to  proceed  as  far  as 
Borowina,  their  destination,  where  we  take 
leave  of  them  for  the  present.  The  second 
stage  of  their  wanderings  was  now  reached. 
The  third  was  in  the  woods,  where  we  shall 


160  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

again  find  them,  sharing  the  toilsome  life  of 
the  colonist.  Was  it  destined  to  give  them 
less  sorrow,  pain  and  misfortune  than  all  that 
had  preceded? 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  161 


CHAPTER    III. 

What  was  Borowina?  A  settlement  in  be- 
ing. Judging  from  appearances,  the  founda- 
tion of  this  colony  had  been  laid  under  the 
impression  that  if  a  name  was  found  the  place 
corresponding  to  it  would  soon  find  itself.  At 
the  outset  all  newspapers  printed  in  the  Polish 
language,  and  even  the  American  ones  in  Chi- 
cago, New  York,  Buffalo,  Detroit  and  Mil- 
waukee,— all  the  places  where  Polanders  were 
represented,  and  where  Polish  emigrants  were 
found, — had  explained  in  clear  and  convincing 
language  that  whoever  among  them  was  de- 
sirous of  becoming  wealthy,  of  preserving 
their  health,  of  eating  well,  of  living  long  and 
dying  a  peaceful  death,  might  obtain  his  share 

in  an  earthly  paradise  named  Borowina,  by  as- 
11 


162  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

sisting  in  the  colonization  and  development  of 
the  place.  The  notices  contained  information 
to  the  effect  that  the  state  of  Arkansas,  where 
Borowina  was  located,  yet  presented  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  uncultivated  desert  district,  yet 
was  the  healthiest  land  under  the  sun.  Al- 
though the  town  of  Memphis,  which  had  been 
built  on  the  eastern  border  of  the  state,  near 
the  Mississippi  river,  might  be  designed  a 
breeding  place  of  yellow  fever,  the  truth  was 
that  neither  this  nor  any  other  fever  was  able 
to  cross  the  great  river.  These  Diseases  dread- 
ed the  river  for  one  reason  among  others, 
namely,  that  the  Indians  on  the  farther  side, 
belonging  to  the  tribe  of  the  Choctaws,  would 
fall  upon  them  and  scalp  them  without  mercy. 
The  fevers  themselves  quaked  before  the  sight 
of  a  redskin.  Consequently,  the  settlers  at 
Borowrina  would  live  between  the  fevers  in  the 
eastern  and  the  Indians  in  the  western  dis- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  163 

tricts,  on  neutral  soil,  and  for  as  much  as 
Borowina  would  number,  a  thousand  years 
hence,  at  least  two  million  inhabitants,  each 
acre  of  land,  which  was  now  offered  for  one 
and  one-half  dollars,  would  in  time  be  valued 
something  like  one  thousand  dollars  per 
square  rod. 

To  withstand  such  prospects  and  eulogies 
was  no  easy  matter.  In  the  case  of  such  as 
were  not  quite  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  a 
too  close  proximity  to  the  Choctaw  Indians 
the  assurance  was  given  that  this  valiant  tribe 
was  filled  with  sympathy  with  the  Polanders, 
so  the  most  friendly  relations  only  were  to  be 
expected.  Otherwise  it  was  a  well  known  fact 
that  wherever  a  railroad  crosses  the  prairies 
and  the  woods,  and  telegraph  poles,  with  their 
cross-like  appearance,  had  been  raised,  these 
crosses  would  soon  become  monuments  to  the 
destruction  of  the  Indians.  Inasmuch  as  all 


1«4  PIER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

the  land  in  Borowina  was  owned  by  a  railroad 
company,  the  total  extinction  of  the  Indians 
could  be  but  a  question  of  time. 

The  land  had  really  been  secured  by  a  rail- 
road company,  which  gave  promise  of  a  con- 
stant connection  between  the  settlement  and 
the  outer  world,  as  well  as  of  an  easy  disposi- 
tion of  products  and  a  rapid  development. 
The  public  notices  had  not  mentioned,  how- 
ever, that  the  railroad  in  question  existed  only 
in  the  minds  of  certain  promoters,  and  that 
those  very  tracts  of  land,  which  the  govern- 
ment had  ceded  to  the  railroad,  were  to  yield 
the  fund  necessary  to  the  construction  of  the 
road.  A  slight  oversight  like  this  is,  however, 
easily  pardoned  in  such  an  immense  affair. 
With  reference  to  Borowina  it  made  only  the 
slightest  difference  that  the  colony,  instead  of 
being  situated  close  to  a  great  railroad  line, 
was  located  in  the  lone  wilderness,  where 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  165 

one  could  move  about  only  with  great  dif- 
ficulty. 

This  circumstance  might  lead  to  great  trou- 
ble, but,  after  all,  it  was  a  matter  dependent 
merely  upon  the  development  of  the  railroad 
itself.  At  any  rate,  the  prospectus  of  this  set- 
tlement should  not  be  read  too  closely,  but 
viewed  in  the  light  that  advertisements  of 
this  character  often  grow  at  the  cost  of  the 
fruit,  so  that  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  separ- 
ate the  grains  of  truth  from  the  chaff  of 
phrases.  So,  if  one  separated  all  "humbug" 
from  the  truth  contained  in  the  notices  of 
Borowina,  enough  alluring  facts  remained  to 
testify  that  the  colony  was  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  thousands  of  others  that  had  been 
founded  in  a  like  manner. 

For  many  reasons  the  conditions  on  which 
the  land  was  to  be  had  appeared  most  promis- 
ing, consequently  a  large  number  of  Polanders 


166  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

from  all  parts  of  the  country  contributed  to 
the  development  of  the  new  settlement:  Mag- 
yars, Silesians,  Galicians,  former  inhabitants 
of  Posen  and  Lithuania;  people  from  the  fac- 
tories in  Chicago  and  Milwaukee,  who  longed 
once  more  for  the  free  life  in  the  country, 
seized  with  great  eagerness  the  opportunity  of 
being  removed  from  the  smoke-  and  dust- 
laden  atmosphere  in  the  large  cities  and  of 
gaining  for  themselves  a  free  life  in  the  exten- 
sive districts  of  Arkansas. 

Those  to  whom  Texas  seemed  too  hot,  Min- 
nesota too  cold,  Michigan  too  moist  and  Illi- 
nois too  barren,  joined  the  rest,  and  several 
hundred  persons,  mostly  men,  but  also  women 
and  children,  started  for  Arkansas.  The  ap- 
pellation, "bloody  Arkansas,"  was  not  especi- 
ally horrifying  to  these  colonists.  The  land 
really  was  swarming  with  rapacious  Indians, 
outlaws  and  robbers;  with  wild  squatters  that 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  1G7 

preyed  upon  the  woods  and  brought  large 
amounts  of  wood  away  down  the  Red  river; 
with  numberless  adventurers  and  vagabonds, 
who  had  fled  from  the  gallows.  Even  if  the 
western  part  of  the  state  was  in  those  days  the 
scene  of  terrible  rights  between  the  redskins 
and  the  white  hunters  of  the  buffalo, — this 
could  not  be  avoided,  and  against  such  dan- 
gers the  colonists  could  guard  themselves  one 
way  or  other.  When  a  Magyar  is  armed  and 
surrounded  by  his  own  men,  he  will  not  eas- 
ily yield  to  violence,  and  anyone  that  might 
presume  too  much  upon  his  rights,  would 
soon  learn  that  he  can  be  neither  bent  nor 
broken.  It  is  also  a  well  known  fact  that  the 
Magyars  are  very  apt  to  hold  together,  and 
that  one  neighbor  will  always  be  ready  to  help 
another. 

The  majority  of  the  colonists  assembled  in 
Little  Rock  and  Claresville,  the  nearest  towns 


168  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

of  importance  near  Borowina,  which  was  situ- 
ated some  twelve  hours'  ride  from  either.  Un- 
fortunately, the  road  ran  through  meadow- 
land,  woods  and  places  where  stagnant  water 
was  abundant.  Some  persons  who  would  not 
await  the  common  start,  had  disappeared 
without  a  trace.  Later,  the  remaining  settlers 
reached  the  place  and  pitched  their  tents  in 
the  woods. 

In  truth,  at  their  arrival  they  were  disap- 
pointed at  the  appearance  of  the  place.  They 
had  hoped  for  open  land  and  some  forest,  but 
found  that  they  were  required  to  clear  the 
primitive  forest.  Black  oaks,  redwood,  light 
platanes  and  dark  sycamores  stood  close  to- 
gether, as  a  firm  mass.  This  wilderness  bore 
no  promising  appearance;  the  ground  was 
covered  with  moss,  and  high  up  the  tenacious 
vines  spun  their  net  around  the  trees,  forming 
a  living  bridge,  a  dense  infiltration  almost  en- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  169 

tirely  impenetrable.  It  was  not  like  at  home, 
where  one  could  look  out  among  the  tree- 
tops.  He  who  ventured  into  the  thicket 
would  soon  lose  sight  of  the  sky  above,  lose 
his  way  in  the  dark  and  expose  himself  to 
innumerable  dangers.  Some  of  the  Magyars 
viewed  the  gigantic  oaks  with  distrust  and 
feared  their  hands  and  axes  would  not  prevail 
against  them.  Of  course  it  is  pleasant  enough 
to  command  the  use  of  timber  for  one's  own 
house  and  for  burning;  to  be  protected  against 
the  cold  and  to  make  one's  own  calculations; 
— but  to  clear  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres  of 
primitive  forest  without  the  help  of  others, 
pulling  the  deep  roots  out  of  the  soil,  and  lit- 
tle by  little  make  the  land  yield  a  profit,  this 
would  require  years  and  years  of  one's  life. 

Yet,  as  there  was  no  other  choice,  the  set- 
tlers went  to  work  at  once,  crossed  themselves, 
seized  their  axes  with  a  sigh  and  began  to  cut 


170  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

down  the  trees.  Henceforth  the  click  of  the 
axe  was  the  only  sound  heard  in  the  forest, 
and  sometimes  it  was  even  accompanied  by  a 
song  of  many  voices. 

The  colony  was  centered  in  an  imposing 
square  in  the  depth  of  the  forest,  where  the 
town  was  to  be  located.  A  school  and  a 
church  were  planned  to  form  the  center  of  the 
settlement.  It  would  require  some  time,  how- 
ever, before  these  plans  could  be  carried  out, 
so  at  present  the  wagons  must  serve  as  houses, 
where  the  settlers  arranged  things  as 
comfortably  as  circumstances  would  allow. 
The  camp  was  well  defended  against  attacks 
from  without,  and  contained  even  a  grazing 
place  for  cattle,  sheep,  horses  and  mules  which 
were  under  the  protection  of  young  men  well 
armed.  The  settlers  slept  in  the  wagons,  or 
around  the  fires,  wherever  a  clearing  had  been 
made. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  171 

Women  and  children  remained  in  the  day- 
time inside  the  limits  of  the  camp,  while  the 
men  were  at  work  in  the  clearings.  At  night 
the  cries  of  the  wild  beasts  were  heard  in  the 
surrounding  woods,  especially  jaguars  and 
wolves.  The  terrible  gray  bears,  which  were 
less  afraid  of  the  fires,  would  sometimes  ap- 
proach the  wagons  quite  close,  therefore  cries 
for  help  and  the  reports  of  guns  were  often 
heard  in  the  night.  Such  of  the  settlers  as  had 
come  from  the  wilderness  of  Texas,  were 
mostly  experienced  hunters;  they  usually  pro- 
vided the  camp  with  fresh  game,  such  as  ante- 
lopes, deer  and  buffaloes.  Others  fed  chiefly 
upon  the  provisions  they  had  procured  in  Lit- 
tle Rock  and  Claresville,  and  which  consisted 
chiefly  in  corn  flour  and  salt  meat.  Of  sheep, 
nearly  every  family  had  procured  a  number, 
which  were  successively  killed  for  food. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  great  camp  fires 


172  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

were  started,  the  young  people,  instead  of 
seeking  at  once  their  resting  places,  amused 
themselves  with  dances.  Some  one  of  their 
number,  perhaps  a  violinist  in  former  times, 
had  brought,  his  violin,  and  when  its  thin  tones 
were  lost  in  the  open  air,  the  people  accom- 
panied by  tin  cans  and  other  queer  instru- 
ments. The  heavy  work  proceeded  steadily, 
but  slowly.  First  the  cabins  had  to  be  built, 
and  for  this  purpose  timber  must  be  procured 
with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  The  redwood 
was  quite  easily  worked,  but  it  was  scarcer 
than  any  other  kind.  A  number  of  the  settlers 
had  pitched  their  canvas  tents  on  their  land; 
others,  especially  young  men,  who  did  not  ask 
for  a  pillow  under  their  heads  at  night,  and 
who  began  to  grow  tired  of  the  incessant  work 
in  the  brush,  began  to  study  the  possibility 
of  cultivating  the  soil.  For  the  first  time 
the  Arkansas  air  began  to  vibrate  with  the 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  173 

cry  with  which  the  oxen  are  driven  forward. 

In  general,  it  might  be  said  that  such  a  bur- 
den of  work  rested  upon  the  settlers  that  they 
hardly  knew  where  to  begin. 

It  was  found  that  the  Borowina  settlers  had 
bought  the  land  of  the  railroad  company  in 
good  faith.  No  one  had  ever  set  foot  on  it 
before,  otherwise  it  would  have  been  a  diffi- 
cult matter  to  dispose  of  a  primeval  forest, 
since  prairie  land  could  be  had  at  a  much  less 
figure.  When  the  representatives  of  the  rail- 
road company  arrived,  they  were  met  by  a 
delegation  of  settlers  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
distribute  the  available  area  of  land  to  the 
colonists  individually;  but  difficulties  arose, 
and  before  long  the  party  quarreled,  and  in  a 
few  days  the  representatives  left  the  settlement 
for  the  alleged  purpose  of  procuring,  in  Clares- 
ville,  the  necessary  leveling  instruments.  They 
never  returned  to  the  place. 


174  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

It  was  soon  found  that  the  settlers  had  pro- 
cured claims  of  unequal  size.  The  worst  of  it 
all  was,  however,  that  no  one  knew  where  his 
claim  was,  or  how  it  should  be  located.  Nor 
did  anyone  know  how  the  cultivation  of  this 
foreign  soil  was  to  be  carried  out.  If  the  set- 
tlers had  been  Germans,  they  would  have 
cleared  the  land  by  a  united  effort,  so  far  as  it 
was  fit  for  cultivation,  and  afterward  divided 
it  into  lots,  or  plats,  of  equal  size,  built  huts, 
and  left  the  perfection  of  each  allotment  for 
agricultural  purposes  to  each  individual  set- 
tler. But  every  Polander  had  only  his  own 
land  in  view  and  cared  nothing  about  the  rest. 
Besides,  each  man  was  anxious  that  his  house 
should  be  built  as  near  as  possible  to  the  for- 
tified camp  and  the  river.  This  occasioned 
much  trouble,  especially  as  one  day  the  large 
wagon  of  a  certain  "Pan  Gruenmanski"  ap- 
peared on  the  scene.  Pan  Gruenmanski  was 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  175 

hitherto  known  among  the  Germans  only  as 
Grnenmann;  but  in  Borowina  he  deemed  it 
necessary,  for  business  reasons,  to  add  a  "ski" 
to  his  Christian  name.  His  canvas-covered 
wagon  bore  a  large  sign  on  which  was  painted 
the  word  "Saloon,"  and  beneath  this  the  le- 
gend: "Brandy,  Whisky,  Gin." 

How  it  came  to  pass  that  this  wagon  arrived 
safely  in  the  camp  without  having  suffered 
any  molest  from  the  robbers  or  the  Indians 
that  haunted  the  dangerous  road  between 
Claresville  and  Borowina,  was  never  known. 
How  the  dangerous  redskins  that  swarmed 
the  country  in  larger  and  smaller  bands  could 
refuse  to  take  Mr.  Gruenmann's  scalp,  re- 
mained this  gentleman's  own  secret.  The  fact 
remained  that  he  arrived  safely  and  made  ex- 
cellent business  on  the  very  first  day  after  his 
arrival.  Trouble  and  strife  were  abroad  at 
once,  and  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  days 


376  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

bloomed  beautifully  throughout  the  settle- 
ment. The  more  earnest  objects  of  the  ani- 
mated discussion  at  once  allied  themselves  to 
a  longing  for  the  old  home.  Those  settlers 
who  had  come  from  the  northern  states  had 
much  to  say  in  favor  of  their  former  homes 
and  against  those  in  the  south,  of  which  Boro- 
wina  was  the  nearest  example.  There  was 
developed  a  jargon  composed  of  perverted 
Polish,  with  an  admixture  of  English,  partly 
pure,  partly  adapted. 

Among  the  colonists  we  find  our  friends 
Lorenz  Toporek  and  Marys,  his  daughter. 
They  had  arrived  safely  in  Borowina,  Arkan- 
sas, and  shared  the  fate  of  their  brethren.  At 
the  outset  they  were,  however,  better  situated 
than  the  rest.  The  primeval  forest  is  a  much 
better  soil  to  a  poor  man  than  New  York  can 
ever  be;  besides,  they  were  not  altogether  pen- 
niless. They  possessed  a  wagon  and  some 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  177 

implements,  which  had  been  procured  at  rea- 
sonable rates  at  Claresville.  Homesickness 
was  their  only  affliction;  but  it  was,  too,  a 
source  of  much  suffering  to  them.  Still,  the 
hard  work  required  of  both  did  not  permit  of 
much  reflection.  Lorenz  worked  nearly  all 
day  in  the  woods,  in  order  to  gather  as  rap- 
idly as  possible  the  necessary  material  for  a 
log  house.  The  girl  prepared  their  meals, 
washed  clothes  in  the  river  and  busied  herself 
from  morning  to  night.  In  spite  of  her  toil- 
some life  the  work  in  the  open  air  soon  ef- 
faced all  traces  of  the  sickness  which  resulted 
from  her  wretched  life  in  New  York.  The 
fresh,  cool  air  in  the  woods  had  a  favorable 
effect  upon  her  whole  system.  The  hot  sun 
burned  her  face  until  it  assumed  a  golden  red 
hue.  The  young  men  who  had  come  to  Boro- 
wina  from  nearly  every  state  in  the  Union, 

and  who  were  always  ready,  on  the  slightest 
12 


178  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

provocation,  to  assail  one  another,  agreed  in 
their  wonder  at  the  girFs  beauty,  noted  the 
soft,  mild,  even  humble  expression  in  her  love- 
ly face,  the  light  in  her  eyes  and  her  golden 
hair.  The  girl's  beauty  was  a  direct  help  to 
Lorenz.  He  had  chosen  for  himself  a  certain 
strip  of  the  forest,  and  no  one  contested  his 
right  of  ownership,  as  all  the  young  men  sup- 
ported him.  Many  of  them  helped  him  in  his 
work,  and  the  old  man  realized  quite  readily 
in  what  direction  the  wind  was  blowing,  in 
consequence  whereof  he  chose  not  to  discour- 
age any  one. 

"My  daughter  is  like  a  flower,  like  a  verit- 
able princess,"  said  he.  "Whoever  appears  to 
me  the  best  lad  in  the  settlement,  will  suc- 
ceed in  winning  her.  I  am  not  disposed  to  let 
any  and  all  take  her,  for  she  is  really  the 
daughter  of  a  good  family.  Anyone  that 
pleases  me  well  may  take  her;  but  she  is  not  to 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  179 

be  had  by  any  vagabond  who  may  call  for 
her." 

So,  those  who  helped  the  old  man  were 
really  working  for  their  own  cause. 

Old  Lorenz  succeeded  almost  better  than 
anyone  else,  and  he  might  even  have  had 
splendid  prospects,  if  the  colony,  as  such, 
had  given  promise  of  a  successful  future. 
But  things  became  worse  and  worse,  as  time 
passed.  Weeks  came  and  went.  Large  piles 
of  wood  lay  heaped  around  the  camp;  here 
and  there  an  unfinished  house  was  seen  pop- 
ping out,  and  yet  the  work  that  had  been 
done  was  but  a  child's  play  compared  to  what 
must  be  carried  out  in  time  to  come.  The 
green  walls  of  the  primeval  forest  yielded  but 
slowly  before  the  axe.  Those  who  had  ven- 
tured into  the  depths  of  the  woods  declared 
that  after  all  there  was  no  end  of  the  trees. 
There  were  terrible  swamps  and  foul-smelling, 


180  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

stagnant  pools,  and  some  even  held  that  there 
were  terrible  monsters,  ghosts  and  spirits  hid- 
den in  among  the  dense  shrubbery.  Big  ser- 
pents and  other  equally  horrible  creatures 
inhabited  the  sylvan  depths.  Shrubs  with 
fearful  thorns  impeded  the  steps  of  the  travel- 
er, tore  his  clothes  to  shreds  and  blocked  the 
way  everywhere.  m  A  boy  from  Chicago  stated 
that  he  had  seen  even  the  Evil  One  himself, 
as  he  raised  his  gray,  thick  head  out  of  one 
of  the  ponds  and  yelled  so  terribly  that  he,  the 
boy,  turned  away  and  fled  to  the  camp  in  mor- 
tal horror.  The  Texas  colonists  explained, 
however,  that  the  apparition  was  nothing  but 
a  buffalo,  but  he  refused  to  trust  their  word. 
These  fantastic  reports  added  to  the  natural 
superstition  in  the  settlers.  A  few  days  after 
the  supposed  appearance  of  the  devil,  some  of 
the  strongest  men  went  into  the  forest,  but 
did  not  return.  Some  became  quite  ill,  suf- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  181 

fering  pains  in  their  back,  in  consequence  of 
the  hard  work  to  which  they  resorted  in  order 
to  gain  headway  against  the  stubborness  of 
the  forest;  some  were  taken  sick  with  fever. 
The  strife  arising  on  account  of  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  land  led  to  actual  fighting,  and 
even  to  bloodshed.  The  cattle  that  had  not 
been  marked  with  the  owner's  name  were  fre- 
quently taken  up  by  others.  At  length  the 
firm  rows  of  wagons  were  dissolved ;  each  man 
wanted  to  live  as  far  away  from  his  neighbor 
as  possible.  So  it  became  impossible  to  guard 
the  animals  as  before;  the  sheep  ran  wild  and 
were  often  lost  in  the  woods.  Still  one  thing 
became  more  and  more  clear  to  all,  namely, 
that  unless  the  new  fields  yielded  as  they 
should,  food  would  become  scarce  and  actual 
want  of  life's  hardest  necessity  stare  into  their 
faces.  Little  by  little  the  men  lost  courage, 
and  some  even  abandoned  work  altogether. 


182  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

They  might  have  continued  their  efforts,  if 
they  had  only  known  what  was  theirs  and 
what  belonged  to  their  neighbors.  The  well- 
founded  complaints  on  the  part  of  the  leaders 
grew  louder  and  louder.  The  settlers  com- 
plained that  they  were  facing  great  misery, 
and  that  no  effort  would  enable  them  to  suc- 
ceed in  this  wilderness.  From  time  to  time  a 
few  that  had  succeeded  in  keeping  their 
money,  left  the  place  for  Claresville.  But  the 
majority,  having  no  means  whatever,  and 
whose  wrelfare  was  bound  to  the  forest, 
could  not  improve  their  circumstances  by 
taking  leave  of  what  they  possessed. 
They  could  merely  wring  their  hands  in  des- 
pair. 

The  click  of  the  axe  had  nearly  died  out  in 
the  forest,  which  seemed,  in  its  majestic  re- 
pose, to  brave  every  effort  on  the  part  of  the 
men. — "We  may  contrive  to  live  here  a  few 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  183 

years,"  said  one  peasant  to  another;  "then 
there  will  be  an  end  of  it." 

One  evening  Lorenz  came  up  to  his  daugh- 
ter and  said: 

"I  foresee  that  this  place,  and  all  of  us,  are 
doomed  to  destruction." 

"God's  will,"  returned  the  girl.  "Having 
provided  for  us  thus  far  He  will  not  leave  us 
now." 

She  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  the  sky  and 
seemed  perfectly  sure  that  nothing  could 
harm  them.  Then  a  big  hunter  from  Texas 
spoke  up  and  said: 

"Nor  will  we  leave  you." 

She  thought  there  was  one,  only  one,  with 
whom  she  would  care  to  walk  through  life, 
and  that  was  her  Jasko,  in  Lipince.  He,  how- 
ever, had  not  kept  his  promise  of  following 
her  and  protecting  her  against  the  world's 
inclemencies. 


184  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

That  Marys  should  not  recognize  the  hope- 
less situation  of  the  settlers,  was  hardly  pos- 
sible; yet  God  had  saved  them  from  their 
hardest  need,  and  her  sufferings  had  chas- 
tened her  soul  so  that  nothing  would  shake 
or  shatter  her  faith  in  God's  providence  for 
good. 

She  also  thought  that  the  old  gentleman  in 
New  York,  who  had  saved  them  out  of  their 
former  wretchedness,  and  who  had  given  her 
his  card,  would,  in  case  it  came  to  the  worst, 
and  they  appealed  to  him,  once  more 
assist  them.  Had  he  not  promised  his  as- 
sistance? 

The  affairs  in  the  colony,  however,  became 
worse  and  worse.  A  number  of  settlers  ran 
away  successively  in  the  dead  of  night,  and 
no  one  learned  their  fate.  Finally  old  Lorenz 
became  ill  from  sheer  exhaustion.  For  two 
davs  he  tried  to  withstand  the  attack;  on  the 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  185 

third  morning  he  was  unable  to  arise.  The 
girl  went  into  the  woods  and  gathered 
enough  moss  to  make  a  comfortable  couch 
on  a  log-house  wall  that  was  all  ready  to  be 
raised,  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible 
and  prepared  some  strengthening  food  for 
him. 

"Marys,"  whispered  the  peasant,  "I  feel 
death  is  drawing  near.  He  is  nearly  through 
the  forest.  You  will  remain  alone  in  the  world 
when  I  am  gone.  God  has  punished  my 
great  sins  against  you, — how  I  brought  you 
across  the  ocean.  Death  will  be  hard  on  me." 

"Father,"  returned  the  girl.  "God  would 
have  punished-me,  unless  I  had  remained  by 
you." 

"If  I  only  did  not  have  to  leave  you  alone 
in  the  world;  if  my  blessing  could  only  fall 
upon  your  marriage,  then  death  would  not  be 
so  bitter.  Marys,  my  child,  take  Orlik,  the 


186  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

big  hunter,  for  your  husband;  he  is  a  good 
boy,  and  will  not  leave  you  unprotected." 

Orlik,  one  of  the  Texas  colonists,  who 
heard  this,  fell  upon  his  knees  beside  the  old 
man's  couch. 

"Father,"  cried  he,  "give  us  your  blessing. 
I  love  your  daughter  better  than  my  own  life. 
I  know  the  forest,  and  she  will  not  be  harmed, 
as  long  as  she  remains  by  me." 

He  rested  his  eyes  on  the  girl's  beautiful 
face,  but  she  threw  herself  at  her  father's  side 
and  said: 

"Dear  father,  do  not  force  me.  I  belong 
to  him,  who  has  once  received  my  pledge,  and 
to  no  one  else." 

"You  will  never  belong  to  any  other  man 
than  me,"  cried  Orlik,  "or  I  shall  go  and  kill 
him.  You  shall  be  mine,  or  that  of  nobody 
else.  All  will  be  destroyed  here,  and  so  will 
you,  unless  I  save  you." 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  187 

Orlik  had  stated  the  truth.  The  settlement 
was  on  the  point  of  dissolution.  One  week 
passed,  and  another.  The  provisions  began 
to  be  exhausted,  and  many  found  themselves 
obliged  to  kill  their  working  animals  for  food. 
The  fever  made  more  and  more  victims;  the 
people  now  cursed,  now  cried  to  God  for  help. 
One  Sunday  they  were  all  assembled  to  unite 
in  a  prayer  for  deliverance;  from  hundreds  of 
mouths  it  sounded:  "Holy,  Almighty  God, 
our  Father,  have  pity  upon  us!"  Even  the 
forest  was  silent  during  this  prayer.  As  the 
voices  died  out,  the  old  trees  soared  aloof 
anew,  as  if  they  meant  to  threaten  the  men 
who  meant  to  conquer  its  power;  as  if  it 
wanted  to  designate  itself  the  king  and  mas- 
ter. 

Orlik  alone  maintained  that  they  should  re- 
main firm  and  do  their  best  to  conquer  all 
obstacles. 


188  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

The  people  looked  at  the  big  hunter  and 
were  reassured  once  more.  Such  as  had  known 
him  from  Texas  were  loud  in  their  praise  of 
him,  for  even  there  he  had  been  known  wide- 
ly for  his  great  strength  and  ability  in  using 
all  kinds  of  weapons.  He  went  out  alone  to 
hunt  the  grizzly  bear.  In  San  Antonio,  where 
he  had  hitherto  lived,  it  was  well  known  that 
he  often  remained  for  weeks  and  months 
alone  in  the  wilderness,  yet  returned  home 
unmolested.  The  sun  had  burned  his  skin  to 
such  an  extent  that  people  had  applied  to  him 
the  name  of  "The  Black  Hunter."  It  was 
even  murmured  that  he  had  roamed  about  the 
Mexican  borders  as  a  highway  robber;  but 
this  was  untrue.  Still  he  would  sometimes  re- 
turn to  the  camp  with  an  Indian  scalp,  and 
only  abandoned  this  on  being  threatened  with 
excommunication  by  the  priest.  In  Borowina 
he  did  mostly  as  he  pleased.  The  woods  fed 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  189 

and  clothed  him.  When  the  settlers  began  to 
run  away  and  to  lose  courage,  he  assumed  the 
government  of  affairs  and  ordered  everyone 
about  according  to  his  own  will.  This  he 
could  do  all  the  more  easily,  as  the  people 
from  Texas  stood  by  him  in  all  that  he  did. 
As  he  went  into  the  woods  shortly  after  the 
prayer  meeting,  the  people  felt  instinctively 
that  something  would  happen. 

The  sun  went  down.  High  above  the 
dark  tops  of  sycamores  there  remained  for 
a  while  the  glimmer  of  the  last  rays.  They 
finally  faded  out  and  disappeared.  During 
the  twilight  a  wind  sprang  up  from  the 
south. 

The  night  had  already  set  in,  when  the  set- 
tlers observed  a  singular,  lurid  light  high 
above  the  trees.  It  grew  more  and  more 
clear  and  soon  shed  its  grewsome  glimmer 
upon  evtry  object  in  view. 


190  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

'The  forest  burns,  the  forest  is  afire!"  cried 
the  people  all  around. 

Immense  flocks  of  birds  passed  above  their 
heads  with  anxious  cries.  The  cattle  in  the 
camp  bellowed  and  wailed  dismally,  as  they 
felt  the  approaching  danger;  dogs  yelled;  men 
and  women  ran  about  distracted,  fearing  that 
the  fire  bore  directly  down  upon  them.  But 
the  powerful  south  wind  drove  the  flames  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Again  and  again  a 
fresh  blaze  arose  from  new  quarters.  The 
flames  met  and  time  and  again  they  bore 
down  upon  the  defenseless  camp  in  wild  fury. 
Mighty  sycamores  fell  down  with  a  crash. 
Lurid  tongues  of  fire  shot  in  through  the  dry 
leaves  on  the  ground  under  the  trees.  The 
whizzing  and  roaring  of  the  flames,  the  crack- 
ing of  the  branches,  the  roar  of  the  wind  and 
the  cries  of  the  wild  animals  filled  the  air  all 
about.  High  trees  burned  like  gigantic 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  191 

torches,  sank  and  fell.  The  outlines  of  burn- 
ing vines  stood  clear  against  the  darkened 
background.  The  ruddy  sky  received  an  im- 
age of  the  immense  ocean  of  fire,  which  made 
the  night  as  light  as  day.  At  length  the  forest 
looked  like  a  sea  of  fire  which  raised  its  waves 
against  everything  distant  or  near. 

Smoke,  heat  and  the  smell  of  burned  wood 
filled  the  air.  Although  the  settlers  were  ex- 
posed to  no  real  danger  they  ran  about,  cry- 
ing out  in  a  terrible  fright,  until  the  dark  fig- 
ure of  Orlik  plunged  out  of  the  woods.  His 
dark  face  was  covered  with  soot  and  dirt.  As 
the  settlers  flocked  around  him  from  all  sides, 
he  leaned  on  his  musket  and  said,  in  an  un- 
naturally quiet  tone: 

"We  shall  now  see  the  end  of  this  forest. 
There  is  no  more  to  clear  away.  I  have 
burned  it  all  off.  There  will  be  as  much  clear 
land  around  here  as  anyone  will  want. 


192  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

He  went  over  to  Marys  and  said  to  her: 

"You  must  now  be  mine,  for  it  is  I  who 
burned  the  forest.  No  one  here  is  stronger 
than  I  am." 

The  girl  quaked  beneath  the  fiery  glance  of 
the  big  hunter,  and  he  seemed  fearful  to  her. 
For  the  first  time  she  thanked  God  that  Jasko 
had  remained  in  Lipince. 

The  fire  continued  for  a  while,  but  finally 
disappeared.  A  gray,  rainy  day  rose  on  the 
settlement,  and  some  attempted  to  penetrate 
into  the  woods,  but  the  heat  drove  them  back. 
On  the  second  day  a  dense  fog  covered  every- 
thing far  and  near,  developed  into  rain  by 
nightfall  and  finally  settled  as  a  veritable  del- 
uge. Smoke  and  fire  had  probably  prevented 
the  outbreak,  for  spring  was  well  advanced, 
and  a  continuous  fall  of  rain  might  be  ex- 
pected. And  besides,  the  stagnant  pools  and 
marshy  places  developed  a  disagreeable  smell. 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  193 

The  site  of  the  camp  was  converted  into  a 
swamp.  Many  of  the  people,  who  had  re- 
mained in  this  wet  place  a  day  and  a  night 
were  taken  sick.  Once  more  some  left  the  col- 
ony, intending  to  proceed  to  Claresville,  but 
soon  they  returned  stating  that  the  river  pas- 
sage was  blocked,  owing  to  the  rise  of  the 
water  above  its  normal  level.  The  situation 
of  the  colonists  was  now  a  terrible  one,  for 
their  food  supply  threatened  to  exhaust  itself, 
and  there  was  no  other  possibility  of  reaching 
Claresville  in  any  other  way  than  by  crossing 
the  river,  so  there  could  be  brought  no  new 
supplies.  Lorenz  and  his  daughter  had  bet- 
ter prospects  than  the  rest,  for  Black  Orlik 
protected  them  above  and  before  all  others. 
Every  morning  he  shot  or  caught  some  animal 
for  them.  He  had  made  a  tent  of  canvas, 
which  protected  the  old  man  and  his  daugh- 
ter against  the  worst  rain.  They  were  almost 
13 


194  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

forced  to  accept  his  help,  for  he  would  hear 
no  opposition;  yet  they  grew  more  and  more 
dependent  upon  him  and  felt  all  the  more 
obliged  to  him,  as  he  demanded  no  return  for 
his  services.  Still,  he  claimed  a  right  to  keep 
the  girl. 

"Am  I  then  the  only  girl  in  the  world?" 
objected  Marys.  "Go  and  seek  someone  else 
for  your  wife.  You  know  well  enough  that 
I  love  another  man." 

But  Orlik  answered: 

"Even  if  I  went  from  one  end  of  the  world 
to  the  other,  I  should  find  no  one  like  you. 
To  me  you  are  the  only  one  in  the  world,  and 
mine  you  must  be.  What  would  be  your  fate, 
if  your  father  died?  You  would  be  altogether 
left  to  me;  you  would  be  obliged  to  seek  my 
help,  and  I  would  take  you  by  force,  but 
without  doing  you  the  least  harm.  You  are 
mine,  mine  alone.  Who  dares  contest  my 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  195 

right  ?  Whom  should  I  fear.  Let  your  Jasko 
come, — so  much  the  better!" 

So  far  as  Lorenz  was  concerned,  Orlik  was 
right  in  everything  he  said  or  did.  The  old 
man's  sickness  developed  more  and  more  to- 
ward a  fatal  stage;  in  his  fever  phantasies  he 
talked  of  his  sins,  and  said  that  God  would 
no  more  allow  him  to  return  to  his  beloved 
Lipince.  Orlik's  promise  of  returning  to  Li- 
pince  with  Marys,  if  she  would  consent  to  mar- 
ry him,  roused  the  girl's  terror,  instead  of  her 
joy.  She  could  not  consent  to  return  home 
a  mere  stranger  to  Jasko,  rather  would  she 
die  alone  in  the  wilderness. 

A  still  greater  calamity  was,  however, 
threatening  the  colony. 

The  rain  fell  more  and  more  heavy.  One 
dark  night,  when  Orlik  had  gone  out  hunting, 
a  cry  rose  in  different  parts  of  the  settlement: 
"The  water  rises!  The  water  rises!"  The 


196  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

people,  roused  from  their  sleep,  saw  through 
the  dark  a  great,  heaving  sheet  of  water,  which 
crept  steadily  toward  the  camp.  From  the 
directions  of  the  river  and  of  the  half  burned 
woods  was  heard  a  rushing  of  water,  which 
seemed  to  approach  with  fearful  swiftness. 

A  cry  of  horror  went  out  from  the  camp. 
Women  and  children  fled  in  wagons  and  ve- 
hicles of  every  description.  The  men  who  had 
but  themselves  to  care  for  fled  toward  the 
western  part  of  the  protecting  ramparts, 
which  were  higher  than  on  the  other  sides. 
The  water  was  not  yet  deep,  but  rose  rapidly. 
The  rush  from  the  side  where  the  forest  was, 
or  had  been,  grew  more  and  more  threaten- 
ing; cries  of  terror  and  calls  for  help  rent  the 
air.  Soon  the  few  animals  that  had  remained 
within  the  palings  of  the  camp  began  to  lose 
their  foothold,  and  the  position  grew  more 
and  more  threatening.  The  rain  fell  in  tor- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  197 

rents  and  with  increased  fury  from  one  min- 
ute to  another.  The  distant  rush  approached 
more  and  more  closely,  the  waves  breaking 
through  the  camp  and  loosening  all  movable 
objects.  The  inundation  was  not  the  usual 
one  which  results  from  persistent  rains,  but 
had  for  its  cause  the  swelling  of  the  Arkan- 
sas river  and  its  tributaries.  It  was  a  perfect 
unfettering  of  the  elements,  which  caused 
death  and  destruction  everywhere  within  the 
reach  of  wind  and  water. 

One  wagon  standing  close  to  the  forest 
ceded  to  the  power  of  the  water  and  was  up- 
set. The  heartrending  cries  of  the  women 
caused  some  of  the  men  to  glide  down  from 
their  position  on  the  rampart,  but  the  water 
seized  them  before  they  realized  the  danger, 
and  carried  them  away  through  the  dark.  The 
inmates  of  the  other  wagons  fled  to  the  tented 
roofs  amidst  the  pelting  rain.  The  dark  grew 


198  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

more  and  more  dense.  Here  and  there  a  beam, 
a  board,  or  the  like,  was  seen  protruding;  to 
some  of  them  a  human  being  clung  in  frantic 
attempts  of  preserving  his  life.  Here  a  hu- 
man body  floated  past,  there  a  cow  struggled 
against  the  flow  of  the  water;  over  yonder  a 
hand  reached  out  for  support,  but  finding 
none. 

The  rush  of  the  water  became  more  and 
more  violent  and  soon  deafened  every  sound 
from  man  or  beast.  One  wagon  tottered  and 
sank  after  another;  everything  seemed 
doomed  to  destruction. 

In  the  meantime  what  had  become  of  Lor- 
enz  and  Marys? — The  wooden  wall  upon 
which  the  sick  man  had  been  laid  saved  him 
and  his  child  from  immediate  danger.  As  the 
water  rose  higher  and  higher  it  glided  out  in 
the  direction  of  the  forest,  circled  around  the 
camp  and  was  finally  driven  in  among  the 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  199 

trees,  through  darkness  and  night.  The  girl, 
wringing  her  hands  in  agony,  kneeled  by  her 
father's  side  and  prayed  aloud  to  God  for 
help  and  guidance.  The  reply  was  the  same 
endless  roar  and  rush  of  the  wet  element 
driven  onward  by  the  relentless  wind.  The 
tent  blew  away,  and  even  the  raft  that  sup- 
ported them  might  at  any  time  be  driven  in 
among  the  trees  in  such  a  manner  that  they 
were  upset.  At  length  it  was  anchored  by  a 
tree  extending  its  branches  far  into  all 
directions.  From  one  of  these  branches 
sounded  at  the  same  moment  a  voice  calling 
to  Marys: 

"Take  the  gun  and  stand  at  the  other  side 
of  the  raft,  so  it  will  not  be  capsized  when  I 
jump  over!" 

It  was  Orlik,  who  a  moment  later  stood  by 
Marys  on  the  tottering  raft. 

"Marys,"  said  he.  "as  I  told  you  already,  I 


200  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

shall  not  part  from  you.    By  God's  help  I  shall 
save  you  both  from  this  danger." 

He  tore  an  axe,  which  always  followed  him, 
from  his  belt,  cut  off  a  common  branch  of  the 
tree  near  by  and  made  of  it  a  rough  oar,  by 
means  of  which  he  set  the  raft  afloat,  where- 
upon he  began  to  row.  When  they  had  with 
some  difficulty  reached  the  real  bed  of  the 
river,  their  frail  skiff  was  at  once  seized  by  the 
current  and  carried  down  the  broad  sheet  of 
turbulent  water  at  a  furious  rate.  From  time 
to  time  Orlik  tried  to  stop  the  raft  by  a  tree 
or  a  bank,  but  in  vain;  he  soon  was  obliged  to 
concentrate  all  his  effort  upon  the  task  of 
keeping  it  out  of  the  way  of  the  many  obsta- 
cles that  always  presented  themselves.  His 
strength  seemed  to  grow,  and  in  spite  of  dark- 
ness he  always  saw  the  dangers  ahead.  One 
hour  passed  after  another.  Everyone  else 
would  have  surrendered  to  the  strain,  but  he 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  201 

felt  no  weakness.  By  dawn  they  had  trav- 
ersed the  woody  regions  and  reached  open 
land,  or,  rather,  open  sea,  for  nothing  was 
visible  except  the  yellow  waters  that  rushed 
along,  moved  by  the  strong  wind  and  cur- 
rent. 

In  the  meantime  the  day  grew  brighter  and 
brighter.  Orlik,  seeing  no  obstacle  far  of 
near,  turned  toward  Marys,  saying: 

"Now  you  are  mine,  for  I  have  saved  you 
from  death." 

His  head  was  uncovered;  his  sunburnt  face 
bore  witness  of  the  strain  he  had  undergone; 
his  whole  appearance  expressed  such  indomi- 
table power  that  for  the  first  time  Marys  dared 
not  gainsay  him. 

"Marys,"  said  the  hunter,  "my  beloved!" 

"Where  are  we  drifting?"  asked  she,  desir- 
ing to  turn  his  attention  to  something  else. 

"I  do  not  care,  as  long  as  I  remain  by  you." 


202  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

"Had  you  not  better  use  the  oar  and  try  to 
reach  land  somewhere?" 

Orlik  took  the  oar  once  more  and  made  an 
attempt  to  alter  their  course.  Old  Lorenz,  in 
the  meantime,  rested  on  his  couch.  Now 
shaken  by  the  fever  that  raged  in  his  blood, 
now  lying  back  in  the  stupor  of  exhaustion, 
he  grew  weaker  and  weaker.  His  cup  of  suf- 
fering was  full;  the  body  could  offer  no  fur- 
ther resistance.  The  great,  dreamless  sleep  of 
death  neared  with  quick  steps.  Toward  noon 
he  awoke  and  said: 

"My  child,  I  shall  not  see  the  dawn  of  to- 
morrow. Oh,  my  daughter,  would  that  I  had 
never  left  Lipince  and  never  brought  you 
away  from  there.  But  God  is  merciful,  and  I 
have  suffered  so  much  that  he  will  forgive  my 
sins.  Bury  me  wherever  you  can,  and  let  Or- 
lik bring  you  to  the  gentleman  in  New  York, 
who  is  so  good,  and  who  will  have  mercy  upon 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  203 

you  and  send  you  back  to  Lipince.  I  shall 
never  see  Lipince  again.  Oh,  God,  be  merci- 
ful and  allow  my  soul  to  return  to  my  native 
place!" 

Once  more  the  fever  seized  his  body;  he 
lost  his  conscience  and  became  delirious. 

"Oh,  God's  holy  Mother!"  cried  he,  "unto 

thee  do  I  commend  my  soul. Throw 

me  not  into  the  water,  I  am  no  dog." 

Conscience  returned  once  more,  and  he  said 
in  a  pitiful  voice: 

"Forgive  me,  my  child,  forgive  me!" 

The  girl  kneeled  by  him,  in  wild  grief,  and 
Orlik  used  his  oar,  scarcely  knowing  where 
they  went,  for  tears  blinded  his  eyes. 

Toward  evening  the  weather  grew  more 
calm.  The  setting  sun  looked  out  upon  the 
immense  range  of  water.  No  land  was  yet  vis- 
ible anywhere.  The  peasant's  last  hour  had 
come.  God  had  mercy  upon  him  and  per- 


204  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

mitted  him  to  pass  away  in  peace.  First  he 
spoke  with  regret  of  Poland.  "I  have  left 
Poland,  Poland  in  the  old  world!"  said  he,  and 
by  degrees  his  imagination  carried  his  spirit 
back  to  that  beloved  place.  The  old  gentle- 
man in  New  York  had  enabled  him  to  become 
free  and  to  return  home  with  his  child.  They 
are  on  the  ocean;  the  steamer  moves  on,  day 
and  night,  until  he  sees  the  harbor  of  Ham- 
burg, whence  he  set  out  on  that  fearful  voy- 
age. He  passes  different  cities,  where  the 
German  language  sounds  in  his  ear;  onward 
the  train  is  speeding,  onward  to  the  spot  of  his 
beloved  home.  They  approach  nearer  and 
nearer;  a  great  joy  fills  his  whole  being;  a 
sweet,  well-known  air  surrounds  him  once 
more.  His  poor  old  heart  hammers  within 
him  with  joy.  Oh,  God,  there  are  the  fields, 
there  the  forests,  the  houses  and  the  church- 
steeples.  There  a  peasant,  with  his  lamb- 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  205 

skin's  cap,  walks  behind  the  plow.  He  stretches 
out  his  arms:  "Neighbor,  neighbor,  listen!" 
— His  voice  fails  him,  but  presently  the  coun- 
ty-seat comes  into  view,  and  thereupon  Li- 
pince.  He  walks  along  the  road  with  Marys, 
weeping.  It  is  springtime,  the  air  is  full  of 
May-bugs,  and — is  it  not  the  sound  of  the  vil- 
lage bells  that  is  heard  at  a  distance?  Holy 
Christ,  that  there  should  be  so  much  joy  for 
him,  a  sinful  man!  Now  only  this  little  hill, 
and  there  is  the  cross  and  the  finger-post 
pointing  toward  Lipince.  They  no  more  walk, 
but  fly  across  the  well-known  landmarks^  the 
finger-post  and  the  cross.  And  the  peasant 
falls  upon  his  knees,  embracing  the  cross,  cry- 
ing aloud  for  joy,  touching  with  his  lips  the 
soil  of  his  beloved  home. 

Yes,  there  they  are. — But  on  the  raft  lies 
the  lifeless  body,  while  the  soul  remains  where 
there  is  peace  and  joy. 


206  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

In  vain  the  girl  calls  aloud:  "Father,  dear 
father!"  Poor  child, — he  will  return  to  you 
no  more:  he  would  rather  remain  in  Lip- 
ince. 

It  is  night  once  more. 

Orlik,  suffering  with  hunger,  was  almost 
ready  to  drop  his  paddle.  Marys  kneeled  by 
her  dead  father  praying  for  him  in  a  broken 
tone.  Far  and  wide  the  same  endless  sheet  of 
water. 

They  appeared  to  have  been  seized  by  the 
strong  current  of  the  widened  river,  and  were 
carried  down  the  stream  with  great  rapidity. 
It  was  impossible  to  guide  the  course  of  the 
raft.  There  might  be  whirlpools,  too,  which 
would  be  likely  to  turn  the  frail  skiff  around 
and  around.  So  Orlik  kept  a  close  lookout, — 
when  presently  he  cried: 

"By  Christ,  there  is  a  light!" 

Marys  looked  in  the  direction  to  which  he 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  207 

pointed,  and  she,  too,  saw  a  light  that  was 
reflected  in  the  water. 

"It  is  a  ship  from  Claresville,"  said  Orlik. 
"The  Yankees  have  sent  out  a  saving  party, 
and  they  will  take  us  aboard.  Marys,  I  shall 
save  you  yet." 

With  a  great  effort  he  continued  the 
work  of  steering  the  raft.  The  light  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  finally  a  large  ves- 
sel became  visible.  It  was  yet  far  off, 
but  came  nearer  and  nearer.  Yet,  after  a 
while  Orlik  noticed  that  it  was  farther 
off  than  at  first. 

They  had  been  seized  by  a  current  which 
carried  them  farther  and  farther  away  from  the 
boat.  Besides,  the  branch  broke  in  Orlik's 
hand,  and  so  they  were  deprived  of  every 
means  of  guiding  the  course  of  the  raft.  The 
light  became  fainter  and  fainter.  Presently 
their  progress  was  stopped  by  a  tree  which 


208  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

caught  the  floating  wall  from  underneath,  and 
so  they  were  unable  to  progress  further. 

Both  called  for  help,  but  the  rush  of  the 
water  deafened  their  voices. 

"I  must  fire  the  gun,"  said  Orlik.  "Per- 
haps they  may  hear  that  and  see  us." 

But  the  shot  made  no  sound,  for  the  gun- 
powder had  become  wet. 

Orlik,  growing  desperate,  threw  himself 
down  upon  the  raft  and  lay  quiet  for  a  while, 
like  in  a  stupor.  At  length  he  arose  and  said: 

"Marys,  I  should  have  run  away  with  any 
other  girl,  perhaps,  and  brought  her  away  with 
me.  So  I  wanted  to  do  with  you,  too,  but 
dared  not  do  it,  for  I  love  you.  I  have  roamed 
about  the  world  like  a  wolf,  and  strong  men 
have  been  afraid  of  me.  It  was  for  me  to  be 
held  in  check  by  you.  If  you  cannot  love  me, 
death  will  be  welcome.  I  shall  save  you,  or 
die.  But  if  I  die,  pray  for  me,  dear,  and 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  209 

weep  over  me!  Marys,  Marys,  pray  for  me!" 
And  before  the  girl  realized  what  he  meant, 
he  had  jumped  into  the  water  and  begun  to 
swim.  For  a  while  she  could  see  how  his 
strong  arms  cleaved  the  water.  He  was  an 
excellent  swimmer.  But  soon  he  disappeared 
before  her  eyes.  He  had  set  out  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  ship  to  seek  help  for  her.  The 
numerous  currents  played  with  him  and  car- 
ried him  out  of  his  course,  now  here,  now 
there.  In  spite  of  all  his  efforts  he  proceeded 
but  slowly.  The  yellow,  muddy  water,  came 
into  his  eyes,  but  he  raised  his  head  and 
strained  his  eyes  to  keep  the  steamer  in  sight. 
One  large  wave  carried  him  swiftly  forward, 
another  took  him  out  of  his  course.  His 
breath  came  more  and  more  heavily;  his  feet 
were  benumbed.  He  doubted  whether  he 
would  be  able  to  reach  the  ship,  then  the 
sound  of  the  girl's  voice  sounded  again  in  his 


210  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

ear,  as  she  had  called  for  help,  and  his  arms  re- 
gained their  former  strength.  He  might  at 
any  time  be  seized  by  a  current  that  he  did 
not  know,  but  continued,  in  spite  of  all  obsta- 
cles, his  perilous  plodding  through  the  muddy 
water,  and  finally  the  ship's  lanterns  seemed 
to  draw  nearer  and  nearer.  The  swimmer 
doubles  his  effort;  the  current  threatens  to 
draw  him  down,  but  he  fights  the  waters  in 
agony,  until  once  more  his  power  is  exhaust- 
ed and  he  feels  near  sinking.  A  few  more 
strokes,  and  he  is  dazed  by  faintness.  He  can- 
not see  the  lanterns,  but  struggles  and  strug- 
gles, and  finally  gathers  himself  enough  to 
call  for  help.  But  the  arms  refuse  their  serv- 
ice; he  can  keep  above  water  no  longer.  One 
wave  after  another  rolls  over  and  past  him; 
he  cannot  see;  he  can  hardly  breathe; — then  a 
sound  of  the  swift  strokes  of  oars  reaches  his 
cars.  With  one  last  effort  he  repeats  his  cry 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  211 

for  help,  and  it  is  heard.  A  boat  is  nearing 
rapidly.  Orlik,  however,  sinks,  and  the  strong 
undercurrent  seizes  him,  carrying  away  his 
body  to  a  moist,  unknown  grave. 

Marys,  alone  with  her  father's  body  on  the 
raft,  looks  anxiously  toward  the  far-away 
light.  It  draws  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the 
girl  watches  it,  until  a  boat  glides  out  of  the 
dark,  and  she  cries  for  help  in  frantic  despair. 

"Hello,  Smith,"  said  a  voice,  "I'll  be 
hanged  if  there  isn't  somebody  crying  for  help 
again!" 

A  few  minutes  later  she  was  grasped  by 
strong  hands  and  pulled  over  into  the  boat. 
But  Orlik  had  disappeared  forever. 

In  two  months  Marys  left  the  hospital  at 
Little  Rock.  In  the  meantime,  enough  mon- 
ey had  been  gathered  together  to  enable  her 
to  reach  New  York.  Still,  owing  to  her  ignor- 
ance of  the  world  and  the  people  surrounding- 


212  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

her,  she  must  pass  part  of  the  way  on  foot. 
There  were  many  who  pitied  the  weak-look- 
ing girl  with  the  large,  blue  eyes,  who  looked 
like  a  shadow  more  than  like  a  live  being, 
and  asked  with  tears  for  every  small  favor  she 
needed.  She  realized,  too,  that  circum- 
stances, and  not  mankind,  had  been  the  cause 
of  her  troubles.  What  should  a  poor  Polish 
field  flower  like  she — what  should  she  do 
amidst  the  turmoil  of  American  life?  How 
could  she  support  herself?  The  wheels  of  that 
gigantic  machinery  must  tear  her  away  and 
crush  her,  as  wagon  wheels  crush  the  flowrers 
in  their  track. 

But  in  spite  of  it  all  she  reached  her  desti- 
nation. At  length  her  thin  hand  reached  for 
the  bell  of  the  house  in  Water  street,  New 
York,  where  her  and  her  father's  old  friend 
from  Posen  lived. — The  door  was  opened. 

"Is  Mr.  Klotopolski  at  home?" 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  213 

"Who  is  he?" 

"An  old  gentleman,  who ."  She  pro- 
duced the  card. 

"He  is  dead." 

"Dead!    And  his  son?" 

"He  is  traveling  abroad." 

"And  his  daughter?" 

"Also  traveling  in  Europe." 

The  door  was  closed.  Marys  dropped  down 
upon  the  threshold  and  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  her  forehead.  There  she  was  once  more 
in  New  York,  helpless  and  friendless,  without 
means  of  support,  a  prey  of  fate. 

Remain  here?  Never!  She  will  go  down  to 
the  harbor;  she  will  seek  the  German  steamers, 
throw  herself  before  the  feet  of  one  captain  or 
another,  and  beseech  him  to  have  pity  on  her 
and  bring  her  back  to  Germany.  From  Ger- 
many she  will  beg  her  way  home  to  Lipince. 
There  her  Jasko  is  living.  Beside  him  she  has 


214  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

not  a  single  friend  in  the  whole  wide  world, 
and,  if  he  shall  refuse  to  care  for  her,  she  will 
at  least  die  near  him. 

She  found  the  way  to  the  harbor  and  bent 
her  back  before  the  German  captains.  They 
would  have  been  but  too  glad  to  bring  her 
home,  for  she  was  pretty  yet,  and  some  rest 
was  all  she  needed  to  regain  her  full  strength 
of  youth.  Consequently  no  beseeching  would 
avail. 

The  girl  sought  a  resting  place  among  the 
piles  of  boards  that  lay  scattered  about  in  all 
directions  near  the  water,  close  to  the  place 
where  some  time  ago  she  had  passed  that  ter- 
rible night  in  her  father's  company,  and  where 
he  had  attempted  to  drown  her.  She  ate  the 
refuse  she  could  find  along  the  water's  edge. 
Happily  it  was  summer  and  warm  enough 
outside. 

Every  morning  she  went  to  the  German 


HER  TRAGIC  FATE.  215 

docks  and  asked  for  a  passage,  but  always  in 
vain.  But,  with  a  peasant's  persistence  she  re- 
turned again  and  again. 

In  the  meantime  her  resistance  was  ex- 
hausted and  she  felt  that  unless  she  was  taken 
aboard  a  ship  before  long  she  would  die,  as  all 
who  had  interested  themselves  on  her  behalf 
had  died  before  her. 

One  day  she  dragged  herself  wearily  along, 
as  usual,  thinking  that  very  likely  this  would 
be  the  last  time,  as  her  fate  might  be  decided 
on  the  day  following,  when  all  her  remaining 
power  would  give  out.  So  she  determined  to 
ask  no  more,  but  steal  aboard  some  vessel  that 
was  ready  to  sail  for  Europe  and  hide  hersett 
in  a  dark  corner.  Then,  when  the  ship  was  on 
the  open  sea  they  would  not  throw  her  into 
the  water, — and  even  if  they  did,  it  would  not 
matter  much.  If,  at  any  rate,  she  must  die,  it 
was  quite  indifferent  where  it  happened.  At 


216  HER  TRAGIC  FATE. 

the  gang-board  of  every  vessel  a  strict  sur- 
veillance is  kept  up,  however,  and  so  her  first 
attempt  was  unsuccessful. 

Now  she  seats  herself  on  the  landing  place 
and  thinks  the  fever  has  seized  her,  for  she 
smiles  and  murmurs  to  herself: 

"I  am  a  wealthy  heiress,  Jasko,  but  I  have 
remained  true  to  you.  Do  you  not  know  me?" 

It  was  not  the  fever,  however,  that  had  pos- 
sessed the  poor  girl,  but  insanity.  Hence- 
forth she  walked  about  the  docks  every  day, 
to  seek  and  point  out  her  Jasko.  People  be- 
gan to  recognize  her,  and  from  time  to  time 
someone  gave  her  a  few  cents.  She  thanked 
humbly  and  smiled  like  a  child.  In  this  man- 
ner two  months  passed. — One  day  she  disap- 
peared forever.  Only  the  newspapers  stated 
that  at  the  outer  end  of  the  harbor  the  body 
of  a  young  girl  had  been  found.  Her  name 
and  her  connections  were  unknown. 


A    000035913    3 


